. 


• 


SOUTHERN   BRANCH 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
LIBRARY 

LOS  ANGELES,  CALIF. 


STOLEN  WATERS 


BY 


CELIA     E.     GARDNER, 


••tori  are  »we«t." 

r»ovi»M,  ix.  H. 


46988 

W       YuKK: 

Dil ling  ham,    Pub  Us  tier 

SrccEssoR  TO  G.  W.  CAR  Co, 

LONDON  :      S.     LOV 

MDCCCLXXXVIIIJ 


to  Ad  of  CooirrM.  to  tta  f*v  1W1,  If 
O.  W.  CAULETON  4  00., 
rtM  of 


TO    OWB 

WHO  HAS  PKOVED 

AT  ALL  TIMES  THAT  HE   IS 

TBB  DEABEST,  THE  NOBLEST,  THE   TRUEST, 

J  iljts  iptbicatt, 

WITH  THE  GRATITUDE,  LOVE,  AND  Ef'KEM 

OF  A  HEART  THAT  HAS  YET  NEVER  KNOWN  8WEETLR  DREAMS 
THAN  THOSE  HE  HAS  FILLED,  AND  WHOSE  PRAYER  IS,  WHEN  DKATH 
SHALL  HAVE  STILLED  OUR  HEARTS'  CURRENT  WITH    HIS  ICY  BBUATH, 
WE  MAY  STAND  WITH  EACH  OTHER  BEFORE  THE  WHITE  THRONK, 
OF  HIM  UNTO  WHOM  ALL  HKART-8ECR7CTS  ARE  KNOWN, 
WHO,  TEMPTED  IN  ALL  POINTS  AS  WE  ARE,  LOOKS  DOWN 
WITH  COMPASSION  DIVINE,  AS  HE  STUDS  OUR  BRIGHT  CROWHi 
WITH  A  OEM  FOR  EACH  CROSS  WE  ENDURE,  WHILE  WE  WAIT 
FOR  THE  SUMMONS  THAT  COMETH  TO  ALL,  SOON  OR  LATE. 
THUS  GRATEFUL,  AND  HOPEFTL,   I  THIS  WORK  TO  TE  EB 
OOKSECtATB  I  PROUD  TO  SIGN  VY8ELP 

-     a  &  a. 


-PS- 


G  \H  S 
PRELUDE 


You  who  never  have  loved — you  who  never  were  tried, 
Lay  this  volume,  without  a  perusal,  aside  ! 
Should  you  read  it,  you'd  find  much  to  shock  preconceived 
Ideas  of  what  should  and  what  should  not  be. 
You  would  find  no  perfection  of  character  here  ; 
Only  weak  human  nature — the  hopes  and  the  fears 
Of  a  heart,  if  undisciplined,  loving  and  true  ; 
Temptations  resisted,  and  yielded  unto ; 
And  the  ^ale  of  a  love  far  beyond  estimation, 
All  potent,  in  doubt  or  in  realization. 

I  claim  for  my  Jiermne,  nothing !  except 

Her  humanity.     Yet  from  the  reader  expect 

The  remembrance  that  this  is  a  Journal,  wherein 

She  confides  all  her  secrets ;  some  which  would  have  been 

Most  carefully,  jealously  guarded,  'tis  plain, 

From  the  world.     For  my  hero,  your  honor,  I  claim. 

For  my  work,  ask  that  your  criticism  be  mild, 

Recollecting,  in  authorship,  I'm  but  a  child. 

Sev'ral  similar  cases  to  this  having  come 
Under  my  observation,  when  there  has  been  done 
By  the  world  much  injustice  to  those  who  have  proved 
In  the  end,  although  human,  both  earnest  and  true, 
Three  tilings  it  has  been  my  endeavor  to  show ; 


PRSLUDS. 

lud  lent  I  have  failed  in  portraying  them  so 

That  the  j  may  be  discerned, — like  on  artist  I  know, 

Who  write*  o'er  the  landscape  he  paints,  "  These  an  tree*  * 

Bo  I  o'er  my  work  write  the  points,  which  are  these :  — 

Firtt/  That  no  one  can  tell  what  they'll  do  'till  they're  trial 
Must  in  like  carcumrtancee  be  placed  to  decide. 
Thar  thum  the  mo*t  atrong  in  asserting  their  own 
Iiumaciilatenees  are  most  often  the  ones, 
Not  alotio  to  be  trir.l  in  that  special  respect, 
Bot  to  yield  to  the  offered  temptation  when  met. 

Second. f    That  it  is  poaibtc,  for  e'en  a  lore 
That's  forbidden— impaawoned  and  earnest  above 
All  expression,  to  be  not  alone  true  but  pure. 
And  that  lore  without  marriage  not  always  ensure* 
Criminality  for  those  who  to  it  succumb. 
And  that  a  trne  lore  can  but  act  upon  one 
Ifeuefidoily,  and  ft  rciiii<  i  Worne. 

And  third/    That  though  conadenoe  and  principle  may 
•i  time  be  crushed  down,  in  the  end  their  full  sway 
They'll  return »,  and  accomplish  what  naught  elae  could  d& 
Aad  with  this  prelude  brief,  I  my  work  leave  with  you. 


STOLEN     WATERS. 


PART    FIRST. 


*  Sweet  are  stolen  waters  t  pleasant  la  the  bread 
In  secret  eaten." 

POLLOCK. 

"And  thug,  unnoticed  and  apart, 
And  more  by  accident  than  choice, 
I  listened  to  that  single  voice. 
Until  the  chambers  of  my  heart 
Were  filled  with  it  by  night  and  day." 


STOLEN  WATERS. 


fart    4fir«t. 


NEW  YORK. 


November  2d,  1862. 

SUNDAY. 

MY  dear  little  Journal !  BO  fresh,  white,  and  new, 
L  have  seated  myself  for  a  short  chat  with  you, 
A.nd  to  tell  you  where  I  have  been  passing  the  eve, 
If  you  will  but  listen,  and  giro  me  the  leave. 
Annie  called  here  to-night,  and  desired  me  to  go 
To  the  new  church  but  just  dedicated ;  and  so 
I  donned  cloak  and  furs,  hat  and  boots  and  went  forth, 
'Twas  cold,  too  !  the  wind  blew  direct  from  the  north, 
Twas  but  a  short  distance,  we  soon  reached  the  place, 
And  passed  in  with  devout  hearts  and  reverent  pace. 
'Twas  lovely !  but  I  am  too  weary,  to-night, 
To  describe  in  detail  all  the  music  and  light, 
Soft  carpets,  rich  carving,  the  Organ  so  grand, 


STOLEN  WATERS. 

The  tablet*  containing  our  Lord's  ten  command*, 
And  all  that.     But  perhaps  I  may  some  other  time 
Describe  all  to  you,  even  to  the  bell's  chime. 
To  t«  11  you  the  truth,  my  dear  Journal,  my  thought* 

an  nought  to  rise  above  earth,  as  they  ought. 
I  seemed  to  be  dreaming,  or  under  a  spell, 
And  which  one  it  was  I  can  yet  hardly  tell , 
For  a  mouth  wreathed  with  smiles  I  could  see  but  too  near, 
And  a  voice  full  of  melody  burst  on  my  ear ; 

he  sang  as  he  smiled,  and  his  dark,  lustrous  eyes, 
Seemed  reading  my  soul ;  and  I  found  with  surprise 
TK:i  1  with  blushes,  my  eyes  sought  th« 

gru 
blood  ru  ins  with  tumultuous  bound, 

•  hing  was  forgotten — time  also,  and  place ; 
i  boa  !  saw  but  one  face. 

•  •ontinued  complete 
u  was  over,  and  I  in  the  street, 

ing  wind  fanned  my  feverish  cheek, 
'  .!••!.  flush,  un<l  unnatural  heat, 

blood  coursed  onoe  more  thro'  my  veina, 
y  own  Htoicul  self  soon  became. 
•  was  it  affected  mo  thus,  there  to-night? 
1  have  hrurd  jK'oj.lc  talking  of  "  Ix>vo  at  limt  si- 
Wa»  r  a  straugur  that  sent  fmch  a  thrill 

•  t  seemed  to  staud  sti)  f 

Wan  r  a  stranger?     No !  that  cannot  be  ; 

We  oft  h«-;ir<  :  -.vhuM  think  it  of  me? 

•  .o  have  so  many  known — flirted  so  long, 

mid  now,  ton  .)  heard  only  in  song? 

Think  of  1  by  a  smile, 

4  glaoco  from  soft  eyea.     Call  it  oooBummate  guile, 


STOLEN  WATERS. 

Call  it  music's  enchantment,  the  pressure  of  light-  - 
Call  it  sorcery,  witchcraft,  or  aught  that  you  like, 
That  so  deeply  impressed  me  at  service  to-night, 
But  don't  say  I'm  in  love  with  a  man  at  first  sight ; 
I  hope  I  am  not  so  susceptible,  quite  1 


February  I5tht  1863. 

SUNDAY. 

Well,  my  father  at  length  has  engaged  a  nice  pew 
In  the  handsome  new  church  which  is  almost  in  view, 
And  henceforthj  I  suppose,  we  shall  worship  within 
Those  walls  that  were  never  polluted  by  sin. 
That  beautiful  temple,  so  rich,  yet  so  plain, 
With  large,  Gothic  windows  through  whose  di'mond  panes 
The  softened  light  streams  with  subdued,  mellow  ray, 
O'er  the  worshippers  therein  assembled  to  pray ; 
The  wails  faintly  tinted,  but  unadorned  still 
By  the  chisel  of  sculptor  or  artist's  fine  skill ; 
The  seats  softly  cushioned  with  green,  and  the  floor 
With  carpets  like  Nature's  own  verdure  laid  o'er, 
The  pulpit  of  chestnut,  green-carpeted  stairs, 
Rich  books,  velvet  cushions,  and  sofa,  and  chairs, 
J  ust  below  it  the  table,  on  which  there  is  spread, 
On  the  first  of  each  month  the  wine  holy  and  bread, 
On  service  of  silver  ;  and  in  the  background 
Stands  their  beautiful  organ,  from  which  such  sweet  aoiiruii 
Of  melody  float,  you  might  fancy,  almost, 
That  you  were  surrounded  by  Heav'n's  shining  host, 


14  STOLEN  WATEB& 

And  think  you  were  listening  to  harps  of  the  blest, 

Whoso  strings  by  the  h:<  Angela  are  pressed } 

Bo  ri  luous,  sweet, 

Now  far  off,  low  and  faint,  and  then  nearer  and  deep, 

"1111  its  thumiiTS  arouse  from  its  lethargic  sleep 

My  ravished,  entranced  soul.     Thru,  at  the  right  hand, 

•  •  tablets,  cngnivt -d  with  our  Lord's  ten  commands; 

oir;  a  small,  Gothic  alcove, 
Ite  darkness  dispelled  by  dim  liirhts  from  above, 
While  in  the  background,  'graved  in  letters  of  gold, 

-  David  of  old. 

Oar  seat's  near  •  —  O !  I  must  not  forget 

:  's  a  quartette. 

lace  we  have  worshipped  to-day, 

Arose  v  sang,  1  n  they  prayed, 

There  I  saw,  too,  a  face  I  had  seen  once  b« 
Heard  the  same  v<>  <ly  sweet  gusln 

Saw  the  lips,  too,  enwren  same  witrhin-  Mni!.\ 

••»  thrown  downward  the  while. 
pianos*  and  smilos  were  all  powerless,  to-day, 
.  turned  raliuly  away, 

ii  dyed  my 

i,  it  was,  indeed,  wondrously  sweet, 
'•tied,  a*  under  a  spell 
v  ravished  ear  then  row  and  fell. 
line, 

•  w&s  the  soft  •<•  :<•.  thix  t 
'•harm  wl:                               in  harmonious  sound, 

•  s|f 

its  to-day  l  hia  eyes, 

;>ot  but  think  with  a  wondering  surprise 
Of  UM  fpelt  he  out  .vh»-n  our  eyes  mat 


STOLEN  WATE&3.  1« 

A.  few  weeks  ago,  for  the  first  time ;  and  yet, 

ft  was  passing  strange  what  o'ercame  me  that  night, 

Unless  'twas  the  heal  and  the  strong  press  of  light. 

W  hatever  it  was,  I  am  firmly  convinced 

Jke  had  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  it !     And,  since 

ft  was  not  what  I  feared  that  it  might  be,  that  night, 

F  will  have  no  more  faith  in  this  "  love  at  first  sight." 


March  1st,  1863. 

SUNDAY. 

When  I  drew  up  the  blind,  somewhat  early  this  morn, 
I  found  there  had  been  quite  a  heavy  snow-storm, 
And  when  it  was  church  time,  I  hardly  could  tell 
If  'twas  best  to  go  out  or  to  stay  at  hqjae.     Well ! 
Did  not  much  like  remaining  within  doors,  all  day, 
So  I  donned  rubber-boots,  and  we  started  away ; 
And  when  we  soon  after  arrived  at  the  church 
Mr.  Tenor  was  standing  right  there  in  the  porch. 
His  glances  at  me  were  quite  earnest,  and  I 
Looked  closely  8t  him,  too,  while  passing  him  by. 
So  you  see,  my  dear  Journal,  I  had  a  fair  view 
Of  this  wonderful  (?)  man,  and  this  fine  singer,  too. 
I  suppose  you  would  like  a  description  of  him, 
I  have  told  you  so  much  of  him.     Well !  to  begin, 
He  was  not  very  formidable  after  all ! 
Ho  is  neither  quite  short,  nor  is  ho  very  talL 
His  shoulders  are  wide,  and  you'd  feel  you  could  rest 
Bafe  sheltered  from  harm  on  his  broad,  manly  breast. 


16  STOLEN  WATERS. 

Dark  hair,  soft,  dark  eyes,  and  a  mouth  passing  sweet, 
Soft  mustaches  and  whiskers  shade  both  lip  and  cheek. 
Hands  white  and  well-shaped,  moderately  small  feet, 
You  have  now,  my  Journal,  his  picture  complete. 
if  this  noble  gentleman  only  just  knew 

ig  descri]  given  to  you, 

to  singing,  his  fine  manly  grace, 
Kmilca  and  his  glances,  his  form  and  his  face, 
What  would  he  say  to  it  ?     But  that  ne'er  will  be  ! 
I  can  say  what  I  please,  my  dear  Journal,  to  "  thee," 

•  u  all  of  my  secrets,  and  ne'er  have  a  fear 
That  you'll  ever  disclose  aught  that  I  whisper  here 

.  dear  me !  what  a  soft  little  goosey  I  am, 
To  be  thinking  HO  much  of  a  quite  unknown  man  I 
Hut  I  told  you  about  him,  upon  that  first  i. 
When  I  "  f«-ll  in  lov<-  (V)"1  with  him,  you  know,  at  litstsight 
I  mean,  theref  t  h  all  I  know 

•u  who's  of  lute^u terosUil  me  so. 
But  to  t<-ll  you  th'«  triir  ••  over-drawn 

•icturo  of  :  >kor-on 

Might  jip.H,  call  mdsomo  his  face  ; 

hia  smile,  and  his  grand,  indescribable  grace, 
Which  once  made  me  forgetful  of  both  time  and  plat*, 
Are  more  charming  by  far  than  mere  beauty  cf  face. 


tiTOLEN  WATERS.  1? 

March  22d,  1863. 

SUNDAY. 

W  jll !  another  brief  week  has  passed  swiftly  along. 
And  another  sweet  Sabbath  is  now  nearly  gone. 
And  to  service  of  course  I  again  went  to-day — 
Twould  take  strong  inducements  to  keep  me  away, 
For  a  Sunday  at  home  I  can  never  endure — 
A  stormy  one  even — and  so  I  am  sure 
There's  nothing  that  scarcely  could  tempt  rue  to  stay 
From  church  upon  such  a  magnificent  day 
As  this  one  has  been.     It  was  lovely  as  one 
Could  desire  to  behold  ;  for  the  glorious  sun, 
In  unrivalled  splendor,  shone  all  the  day  through  ; 
The  sky  was  one  vast  arch  of  unclouded  blue  ; 
Each  twig,  bush,  and  tree  were  a-glitter  with  ice, 
And  the  pavement  as  well,  which  was  not  quite  so  nice, 
For  many  unlucky  pedestrians  met 
A  fall  on  the  sidewalk  so  slipp'ry  and  wet. 
The  new-fallen  snow,  with  a  pure,  dazzling  sheet. 
Of  white,  covered  tree-top,  and  house-top,  and  street ; 
And  sleigh  after  sleigh-load  dashed  swiftly  along, 
And  before  one  could  fairly  behold  them,  were  gone ; 
And  the  tinkle  of  bells  on  the  listening  ear, 
Fell  with  musical  murmur  so  merry  and  clear. 
The  whole  scene  was  charming  !  but  soon  we  passed  in 
From  the  splendor  without  to  the  beauty  witiin. 
Already,  the  organ's  deep,  exquisite  notes, 
All  through  the  vast  edifice  solemnly  floats. 


•RS. 

H  death, 

An,l  •  •  caU-li  my  breath, 

•  tones  of  the  sing.  illingly  sweet, 

•11  quite  complete. 

:ht  smiling  ft » 
Was  beaming  '  ^  place, 

i  a  pair  of  soft  eyes  looking  into  my  own  ? 
I  saw  nothing,  he:  r  ;d  tones 

10  voices  I've  lean.  -^  well, 

i.>  more  tlian  I  can 
y  arose  tl  <  was  o'er, 

10  face  once  more ; 

rise 

;  olllil  dill 

iing,  too,  all 

i  looks,  and  his  glances  inililfrcntly  mot, 
miles  that  ar»-  -  too,  even 


Jti/y  6«/»,  1863. 

Aterday  wait  the  grand  '  •  f  -Tuly, 

;  lie  whole  day 
mtry,  so  quicft ;  awaj 

:    ;!:••  <!in 

•hV 


STOLEN  WATERS.  19 

We  passed  the  day  quietly,  pleasantly,  then 

A.t  evening  came  back  to  the  city  again. 

I  felt  this  A.M.  just  a  little  fatigued, 

But  to  church  went  as  usual,  iny  "  Unknowr. "  to  see. 

I  saw  him,  and  the  smiles,  too,  that  brightened'  his  face, 

As  I  my  seat  took  in  the  usual  place. 

Oh,  dear !  I  would  much  like  to  know  what's  his  name, 

But  yet,  what  is  the  use  ?  'Tis  of  course  all  the  same, 

The  gentleman  nothing  at  all  is  to  me, 

And  what  is  more  still,  never  will,  or  can  be. 

I  presume,  did  I  know  him  quite  intimately, 

I'd  think  no  more  of  him  than  of  others  T  see ; 

'Tis  the  myst'ry  that  charms  me,  and  if  that  was  o'er 

I'm  convinced  I  should  think  of  the  man  never  more, 

I  know  'tis  a  mere  passing  fancy,  and  yet 

It  seems  to  be  one  I'm  not  like  to  forget, 

At  least  very  soon, — while  I  sit  in  the  seat 

Which  I  now  do  in  church. 

'Twould  be  gladness  compleUi 

It  sometimes  seems  to  me,  if  I  only  could  rest 

For  one  single  moment  upon  his  broad  breast, 

Could  but  around  me  have  the  clasp  of  his  arm, 

And  know  that  he'd  shield  me  from  every  harm. 

But  what  am  I  thinking  of?     How  could  I  write 

Such  words  as  these  JTve  written  herein  to-night  ? 

Yet  I  read  in  a  fine  modern  author,  to-day, 
,  "  There  is  not  a  true  teaman  but  what  longs  to  lay 
)  Her  head  on  the  fond  loving  broaisfc  of  a  man. 

And  j>ee  in  his  eyes  the  one  look  that  IIR  naji 
^  Give  to  no  one  else  in  the  whole  woricU'     And  so,  why, 

If  the  man  truth  was  speaking,  oh !  then,  why  should  I, 


20  ATERS. 

* 

As  I  sit  here  ti.  ••,  alom, 

Hesitate  to  write  what  not  an  eye  bub  my  own 
Does  now  or  will  ever  behold  ?     Why,  I  say, 

i  to  obey 

me  to_be 

A  t: 

Hut  Tin  weary,  and  sleepy  as  well ;  and  the  ligbt 

rs  so  that  I  scarcely  can  see  now  to  write. 
The  gas  must  be  poor!— Well !   I'm  thro'  for  to-night 


1863. 

SUNDAY. 

How  swiftly,  indeed,  time  does  hasten  along  1 
Two  whole  m-:  r  are  already  gone, 

i  <  now  very  near, 

r'll  IKJ  here. 
. 
So  exceedingly  fk  follows  day 

accession  thai  one  hardly  loaves 
Their  bed  in  the  n  •  comes  dewy  eve, 

Yet  the  same  old  story  ''or, 

The  samn  wear.  once  irore 

The  Huinr  tl'iil  QMBOtonj   'i.is   .if''  r  <l;iy  ; 
Kow  a  trill.-  <  :  .nn  *  small  bit  of  play, 

A  book  that's  absorbing,  a  Iriin...  urn, 

Or  a  bright,  flashing  ray  fi»m  IIO^'H  glittering 
A  walk  now  and  then  on  a  clear  moonlight  night, 
A  lettoi  received,  or  perchance  one  to  write ; 


STOLEN  WATERS.  2J 

A.  call  from  a  friend,  or  a  brief  visit  paid, 

An  engagement  fulfilled,  or  some  promises  made, 

Sometimes  a  fine  drive,  an  occasional  song, 

And  thus,  the  long,  warm,  summer  days  pass  along. 

I  am  heartily  tired  of  these  trivial  things ! 

I  would  like  a  change,  now,  whatever  it  brings  ; 

Something  wonderful,  startling,  or  thrillingly  strange, 

Something  new,  something  grand,  anything  for  a  change  1 

I  almost  had  said  I  would  rather  it  be 

Even  grief  than  this  sameness  so  irksome  to  me. 

It  is  true  we  receive  startling  news  every  day 

From  the  army,  but  that's  such  a  distance  away, 

And  no  one  is  out  there  for  whom  aught  I  care, 

With  exception,  it  may  be,  of  Colonel  Allair. 

Nor  do  I  know  why  I  should  care  for  him  much, 

Though  I  think  him  a  friend,  and  I  like  him  as  such  ; 

But  then  my  acquaintance  with  him  was  but  slight, 

And  yet  I  did  think  he  would  certainly  write. 

He  did  not,  'tis  true,  say  he  would,  but  I  thought 

He  intended  to  do  so,  but  that  matters  not; 

I  was  thinking,  perhaps,  that  it  possibly  might 

Have  been  some  variation,  although  it  were  slight, 

To  the  usual  round  that  of  late  marks  each  day. 

But  there,  let  him  pass  1    I  have  something  to  say 

About  the  events  of  the  day  nearly  gone. 

I  went  out  to  service  as  usual  this  morn, 
But  not  as  in  general  saw  I  the  face 
Of  my  charming  "  unknown  "  in  his  usual  place ; 
For  a  stranger,  to-day,  occupied  his  old  seat 
[n  the  choir,  and  thus  rendered  their  number  complete 


2tf  V  WATERS. 

Mr.  S.  gave  to  us  a  \v  a  this  morn, 

>rn. 

I  cannot  at  any  time  li  .  nit 

But  think  I  waa  annoyed  at  ill  more 

This  morning  than  ever  I  hu\ 

iscourse  j  '>rig; 

iuaio  was  harsh,  ami  there  seemed  something  wrong, 
Something  wanting,  in  all  of  the  service  to-day, 
'.  f  might  be  I  pretend  not  to  say, 
'y  can  tell  that .  i  ml  o'er 

1     irned  toward  tin-  choir,  •  sed  indeed  more 

Than  I  like  to  acknowledge,  1  think,  e'en,  to  you, 
•  lear  Journal,  a  fm  «>  been  wont  to  view, 

e  I  have  listened  to  gushing  in  song, 

i  on  mo  now  for  so  long, 
re  he  could  have  been  all  to-day, 

•o  away. 

',  I'll  s-iy  in  this  place, 

That  1  h".i!<l  a  •  bis  last  name  was  "Chase," 

•  1  HI  married  soon,  too, 
<lo! 
in  smiles  it  re, 

.  have  not  one  to  spare. 
" 

••  be  was  abaci  < 
next  I  iw  ,  Hide 

i 

'ace 
ild  Uj  thestat 


STOLEN  WATERS. 

1  hope  not;  I  do  not  believe  they  will  find 
His  peer  very  soon,  not,  at  least,  to  m;y  mind. 
Perhaps,  though,  that  jTmay  be  partial  somewhat; 
But  then,  who  that  ever  has  heard  him  ia  notl 
By  all  1  believe  he's  acknowledged  to  be 
"  Ne  plus  ultra  "  in  singing,  at  least !     But,  deal  me  I 
I  am  too  tired  to  think,  and  I'm  too  tired  to  write, 
And  presume  I  have  said  quite  enough  for  to-night. 


August  23d,  1863. 

SUNDAY. 

I  have  not  been  to  church  since  the  last  time  1 
But  have  had  of  the  service  each  day  a  report, 
And  each  Sabbath  they've  politics  had  o'er  and  o'er ; 
And  I  thought  I  would  not  go  to  church  any  more 
Until  there's  a  change,  for  I  cannot  eudure 
Politics  in  the  pulpit,  and  think,  I  am  sure, 
We  hear  quite  enoughjcj^^e^u_^ujdngjthe_  weejk, 
Without  going  to  chiirchjaud  there  hear  a  jnan  speak 
Of  nothing  at  all  beside  slavery  and  war, 
Now,  I  do  not  believe  but  that  /"do  abhor 
The  system  of  slavery  as  much  as  does  he, 
Am  just  as  desirous  the  slaves  should  be  free. 
But  I  own  I  don't  think  that  the  end  justifies 
The  means ;  nor  to  me  does  it  seem  hardly  wise 
Our  country  to  plunge  into  this  civil  war — 
Which  every  nation  should  always  abhor — 
And  our  fair  land  to  cover  with  unnumbered  graves. 
For  the  possible  iseue  of  freeing  the  slaves. 


*4  STOLEN  WATERS. 

'.nt  if  there  had  been  made  a  decree 
Hut  every  child  henceforth  born  should  be  free 
That  i  would  been  in  the  end, 

For  all  w<>,iM,  of  course,  educated  been,  then, 
For  freedom  ;  been  qualified  thereby  to  do 

r  share  in  this  life's  hard,  st  .     And,  too, 

In  a  few  fleeting  years  slavery  would  have  been  o'er, 

i    the  "cry  of  the  oppressed"  would  be  heard   nev« 

more — 

All  chains  would  be  broken,  all  slaves  would  be  free. 
And  then,  too,  how  many  fond  hearts  there  will  be 

sad,  and  how  desolate !     /don't  pretend 
To  be  BO  patriot  i<-.     I  never  would  send 
Any  dear  friend  of  laps  life, 

unholy  Ktrifi*. 
I  am  i.  i  ic  enough,  yet,  to  l.in.l 

!<>vc<l  fri.-ml  of  mine, 

u  a  clear,  tearless  eye ; 
; »« -reliance,  too,  to  die, 

>no  and  f  ,th  not  one  dear  friend  nigh 

lie  last  word,  or  last,  •  n-mulous  sigh ; 

Milod, 

ie  moaning  with  paii  .  .itched  and  untnodwi : 

'ii  to  be, 

U.-rt    HI. 

i  been  with  some  other  nation, 
><  (1  our  f.iir  land's  desolation — 

t 

Tb*  hui»h  '  ices  that  once  were  no  dear. 

Bo  fcarfu.  woul.l  not  be  to  tee 

Our  loved  aunt  torn  from  us.     Tea,  it  would,  indood. 


STOLEN  WATERS.  25 

ht>  oMt>\*,nt  far  if  'twas  strife  with  another 

1  j*nd  GJ  power ;  but  brothers  against  their  own  brothers  1 

Tw  too  horrid  to  thwik  of,  or  speak  of,  or  write  I 

A.nd  t  tLiok,  too,  tkut  I  have  already  said  quite 

Enough  oa  the  subject! ;  I  did  not  intend 

To  do  tfie  »»me  thing  which  I  just  now  condemned, 

And  prbdch  i»  "  war-s*-r  mon,"  my  Journal,  to  you. 

And  perKips,  just  as  ultra  this  one  has  been,  too, 

As  those  Mr.  &  writers,  which  I  can't  endure. 

But  I'm  no*,  in  vke  pulpit,  and  I  am  assured 

That  my  co&greg^tioi*  is  not  a  mixed  one, 

So  I  think  thore  o  not  any  great  mischief  done. 

It  has  been  pretty  stormy  the  whole  day,  and  so 
I  did  not  this  morn  go  to  church  ;  and  although 
[  expected,  as  usual,  they'd  have  war  to-day, 
And  that  our  Mr.  Tenor  remained  yet  away, 
I  was  somewhat  mistaken  on  both  points,  I  find, 
For  the  sermon  this  morn  was  exceedingly  fine — 
Father  told  me  (he  went  out  this  morning  alone), 
And  the  music  of  course  was,  because  "  my  Unknown*" 
His  usual  seat  in  the  choir  filled  this  morn  ; 
And  of  course  I  regretted  that  I  had  not  gone. 
I  would  like  to  see  him,  and  find  out  if  I  can, 
If  of  him  I  must  think  as  a  lost,  married  man. 
And  I  might  have  been  able  to  tell  if  I'd  gone 
To  church.     But,  it's  being  so  stormy  this  morn, 
She  would  not  have  been  out  very  probably,  so 
I  presume  it's  as  well  now  that  I  did  not  go. 
B  it  I  would  like  to  know  if  he's  married  or  not — = 
I,  indeed,  scarcely  think  that  he  is.     I  forgot 
I 


<1; 
i  .  be  same! 

I'm  not  <j 
A  wired  that  the  nanto  to  mo  given  was  right. 

.11  Id  go  down  town  to-nigh1. 
And  an  it  wits  >rk,  too,  about 

Half-past  seven,  to  service  u»  out. 

i  go, 

now,  too, 

i 


Apfanfcr  '."'<,  L86& 


Again  over  two  weeks  have  i>aat, 

Sabbath^  vroto  hurt 

iva  ago, 

.now 

•t«  of  hi  ;ilO, 

i 

no  hwly  wa»  v  100, 

:u*  he  '1M.-J  to 

^ht,  thoivforc,  M  well  .still  Ix-linvo  him  to  he, 
•w  belter,  "  hear*  M*  I  " 


STOLEN  WATERS.  27 

I  went  out  to  Tarrytown  last  Saturday, 
Remaining  'till  Monday,  and  so  was  away 
From  service  on  last  Sunday  morn.     Nothing  new 
Has  occurred  since  that  time.    Yes,  indeed  !  there  has,  too  ' 
The  carrier  called  yesterday  afternoon, 
My  Journal,  and  brought  me  a  letter  ;  from  whom 
I  could  not  imagine  at  first,  as  the  hand 
Was  quite  unfamiliar  ;  but  when  I  began 
A  perusal  of  it,  and  had  looked  to  see  where 
It  was  dated,  inferred  'twas  from  Colonel  Allair ; 
And,  on  turning  to  look  for  the  name  at  the  close, 
I  found  it  to  be  just  as  I  had  supposed. 
'Twas  indeed  a  nice  letter,  but  only  just  such 
As  I  knew  he  would  write,  and  it  did  please  me  much. 
'Twas  dated  at  Vicksburg,  the  twentieth  day 
Of  last  month ;  and  informed  me  that  he'd  been  away 
On  service  detached,  for  some  little  time  past ; 
But  had  now  been  sent  back  to  the  army,  at  last. 
That  at  the  surrender  of  V.  he  was  there ; 
But  on  the  day  following,  Colonel  Allair 
Was  detailed  to  convey  to  his  far  Western  home 
The  mortal  remains  of  a  friend  of  his  own, 
His  regiment's  Major.     And  that  was  why  he 
Had  postponed  for  so  long,  this,  his  letter  to  me 
But  hoped  I'd  excuse  his  unwilling  delay, 
And  very  soon  write  him  a  few  lines  to  say 
He  still  might  regard  me  a  friend.     That  'twas  not 
Because  for  a  moment  that  me  he  forgot, 
But  feared  that  ere  this  I'd  ceased  thinking  of  him, 
But  hoped  not,  and  trusted,  though  that  might  hav» 
The  case  before  now,  this  would  serve  to  remind 
Me  sufficiently  of  him  to  send  him  a  line. 


28  STOLEN  WA2SS8. 

I  said  to  him  once,  I  was  fearful  that  we 
On  certain  points  possibly  might  disagree. 
So  he  writes : 

"  My  dear  friend,  why  suppose  that  we  do  ' 
I  do  not  imagine  we'd  quarrel,  do  you  ? 
I  believe,  certainly,  every  one  has  a  right 

ir  own  free  opinions  to  hold.     Though  they  might 

i-'ly  from  <  never  should  think 

Tha-  loral  courage  possessed,  should  they  shrink 

ii  freely  expressing  the  same.     A^d  although 
I  am  likely  to  say  what  I  think,  am  also 
Willing  others  should  do  just  the  same.     So  think  we 
Shall  not,  my  dear  friend,  very  much  disagree." 
Then  in  speaking  soon  after  of  what  he  well  knew 
To  be  my  opinions  on  war  and  peace,  too, 
He  says: 

in  what  you  have  said, 
That  your  '  love  of  too  limited, 

;  "right, 

That  your  t  ever  be  quite 

In  abeyance  u  wishes  for  peace, 

To  jour  earnest  den  ,e  war  should  soon 

Now  my  love  of  '  union  with  peace  *  is  strong,  too, 

i«  necessary  to  subdue 

Rebellions  like  thin,  I  say,  'union  with  war.' 
here  are  more  unions  that  I've  a  love  for. 

Mt/-*,andaui  nds, 

ion  of  heart*,  and  a  union  of  h*n<i*.' 

in  to  the  woman  he  loves, 
irae,  that  both  parties  appro*** 
Tbrn  ta  iui<ln  further  down, 


8TQLEN  WATERS.  29 

^ 

"  But  I  yet  do  not  know, 
Of  the  passion  of  love,  anything  at  all !     So, 
If  any  peculiar  sensations  are  felt, 
I  own  I  am  ignorant  of  their  effect; 
Nor  da  I  intend,  now,  to  make  any  such 
Proposals  to  you,  unless  I  very  much 
Change  my  mind  on  the  subject.     But  hope  now  and  then, 
For  some  flashes  of  wit  from  your  bright,  lively  pen, 
That,  for  sweet  friendship's  sake,  you'll  sometimes  send  to  m« 
A  few  lines,  the  monotony  thus  to  relieve 
Of  my  dreary  war-path ;  and  as  far,  too,  as  lies 
In  my  power  to  do  so,  I  ever  shall  try 
To  render  it  pleasant  to  you." 

That's  about 

All  he  wrote !     But  my  light  is  so  fast  going  out, 
[  must  shut  up  my  book,  I  suppose,  for  this  time, 
And  go  down-stairs.     But,  hark !  the  bell's  ringing  for  nine. 
So  the  gas  in  my  dressing-room  think  I  will  light, 
Read  an  hour  or  two,  and  not  go  down  to-night. 


September  27th,  1863. 

SUNDAY. 

My  dear  little  Journal !  I  come  here  once  mor*» 
To  have  a  nice  chat,  as  so  often  before 
We've  chatted  together  in  this  tiny  room, 
At  sunrise,  at  sunset,  at  midnight,  and  noon. 
Under  all  circumstances  as  well  as  all  times, 
Right  here,  in  this  little  dear  "  Sanctum  "  of  mine, 


3" 

place  all  so  qu  intrudes, 

The  spot  where  I  ulwu\ 

•  beams 

•s_;  window  so  d;iz/lingly  stream* 
i  a  radiance  almost  sublimo 
i  this  dear  apartment  of  mine — 

lined  recess, 
i  wide-open  desk, 
;TI vin^s,  and  late  maga/. 
And  touches  again  with  its  radiant  beams 
book  in  the  cases,  and  all 
Hie  familiar  dear  pictures  which  hong  <m  tho  wall. 

'  >wing  noon 
Makes  oppressive  the  h<-  <  .  i ,  room, 

ills  to  8Oft<-n  tlm  liu'lit, 
to  read,  or  have  letters  to  wi 

• 

sot  sky, 
Tin-  st. ii-     gh    .-  .    .       it   1:1   tlio  blue  v.iuit  <>!i  lii^'l:, 

•14  to  coun:  •  by  one, 

1  v  Moon* 
Beren-  K;  still,  slwping  v 

irmii*  at  reai,  and  its  banners  all  furled, 

•uses  closed, 
,'  slouping  in  perfect  repom. 

looks  coldly,  Jin.i  me, 
r>  "•        •  •    :  •  .  ;:  :•    ;',  1.  :  i,  .     I  n  .,., 

light. 
' » ving  a  clear,  moonlight  night  ? 


STOLEN  WATERS.  31 

Then  I  sit  in  the  window  and  rear  in  the  air 

Castles  gorgeously  grand,  and  surpassingly  fair  ! 

A  nd  give  myself  up  for  the  time  to  bright  dreams, 

And  imagine  that  all  things  are  jiist  what  they  seem  ; 

That  all  that  doth  glitter  is  pure,  unalloyed  gold, 

That  the  world  is  not  heartless,  and  cruel,  and  cold, 

That  friends  never  are  false,  nor  our  loved  ones  untrue, 

No  lost  hopes  to  mourn,  and  no  errors  to  rue, 

That  all  is  sweet  harmony,  purity,  love, 

No  sorrow  below,  and  no  dark  clouds  above. 

But  when  wishing  to  sleep,  give  me  then  a  dark  room, 

No  gas-light,  no  star-light,  no  light  of  the  inoon, 

Let  the  curtain  droop  low,  and  draw  down  the  blind  tight, 

And  bid  to  things  earthly  a  silent  good-night. 

Well !  my  brother  each  Saturday's  been  up  for  me 
To  go  for  the  Sabbath  with  him  up  to  T. 
Since  the  last  time  I  wrote,  and  of  course,  too,  I  wei  t— 
I  had  no  excuse,  there  was  naxight  to  prevent, 
And  so  I  have  not  been  to  church  'till  to-day, 
Although  I  disliked  much  remaining  away. 
And  it  did  seem  so  pleasant  to  be  there  once  more, 
And  to  hear  the  grand  organ's  exquisite  notes  pour 
All  through  the  vast  temple,  and  hear  once  again 
The  toues  of  the  choir  with  the  organ's  notes  blend. 
'Twos  nice,  just  to  sit  in  my  visual  place, 
And  see  there  above  me  the  same  smiling  face. 
[  went  out  to  service  this  eve,  too,  again, 
It  is  so  pleasant  thei-e  in  the  evening ;  and  then 
I  like  my  "  Unknown  "  to  observe  best  at  night, 
Though  he  looks  quite  as  well  by  day  as  by  gas-light. 


ad  in  all  places,  and  ut  all  times ; 
An»l  i  so  much,  too,  in  fine! 

By  tin*  wa  at  last  have  found  out 

His  iiuiii  :ie,  too,  without  any  doubt 

I  never,  in  f.i  d  really  yet 

My  former  intelligence  very  correct 
In  regar'  1  .  ;  nor  could  I  have  called        * 

Him  l>y  tli. it  ;   l.-ir  lib  name  i  :y  :it  all, 

lust;  but  1  think  I'll  not  tell 
iial,  what  'tis — think  'twill  be  just  as  well 
That  .1  not  know  it.     Suffice  it  to  say 

That  name  is "  the  way, 

That  I  .id  like;  ulth«> 

y  name  with  us.     Tin n  I  li;iv.-,  too, 
More  friends  by  that  name  than  W  any  lx 
It»  Colonel  A  Hair's,  too  !      My  .1   urnul,  good-night 


November  3d,  1863. 

To-Aiy  in  i.a  !      In,  nineteen  to-<lay, 

1  year  have  so  soon  slipped  away  ? 

bo  positii  have  seen 

•:i  my  teens? 

••ok  hark.  ike  a  dream, 

The  years  tint  have  paned  since  I  entered  my  teeu«, 

ug  time 

Before  I  was  out  of  Uiem  iiaj  mine, 

Tke  long  years  have  flown  very  quickly  away, 
And  my  nineteenth  birthday  „.  u>-<Uy. 


STOLEN  WATERS.  33 

The  weather  to-day  rather  stormy  has  been, 
Bub  cleared  off  quite  pleasant  before  evening; 
Tho  sun  sank  to  rest  in  the  beautiful  west, 
Fn  his  rich-tmted  robes  just  as  gorgeously  dressed, 
As  if  he'd  not  hidden  almost  the  whole  day 
His  glorious  head  behind  dark  clouds  of  gray,  . 

And  only  emerged  for  a  parting  good-night 
Ere  leaving  our  world  with  his  life-giving  light. 
Well !  as  it  had  cleared  off  so  wondrously  fair, 
I  thought  I'd  go  out  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air. 
And  so,  dressing,  I  went  down  to  Ed  Yamey's  store, 
For  some  pond-lily,  pens,  one  or  two  trifles  more. 
He  seemed,  as  in  general,  glad  to  see  me. 
What  a  singular  man  he  to  me  seems  to  be ! 
Like  Lord  Byron's  "  bird  with  cerulean  wings," 
Whose  song  ever  "  seemed  saying  a  thousand  sweet  things," 
So  his  eyes  and  his  tones  do  speak  volumes  sometimes, 
As  he  touches  my  hand,  or  his  glances  meet  mine. 
His  every  word  is  almost  a  caress, 
And  his  manner,  in  truth,  seems  at  times  scarcely  less. 
He's  a  rather  fine-looking  man,  and — let  me  see ! 
His  age  I  should  think  is  about  thirty -three. 
I  wonder  sometimes  if  he  seems  just  the  same 
To  all  lady  friends,  or  e'en  some  I  could  name ; 
I  presume  that  he  does,  though,  but  such  looks  and  tones 
1  could  give  to  no  one  I've  as  yet  ever  known, 
And  though  I'm  disposed  very  often  to  flirt 
He  seems  too  much  in  earnest,  and  fear  I  might  hurt 
His  feelings  far  more  than  I'd  gratify  mine, 
And  for  such  a  flirtation  I  now  have  no  time. 
With  letters  so  often  from  Colonel  Allair, 
And  my  "  Unknown  "  to  think  about,  too,  do  not  care 
V 


34  STOLEN  WATERS. 


ABO: 

;imey.     Enough,  though,  of  him  I 

t^sfor  tin-  I  'i-i 

And,  oh,  by  the  way, 

1  learnftd  tta  address  of  "  my  Unknown  "  to-duy, 
resideuc'  ,  ••••**>  au  d  a^  • 

••>  I  go  down  town  I  think  1  will  call 

0  gtoro;  and  if  he  hlx.uld  then  chance  to  be  in, 

1  am  so  fortunate  as  to  see  him, 

11  scud  him  a  note. 
;  the»weetest  one  also  that  I  ever  wrote. 

And  now,  aa  the  hours  are  fast  taking  thoir  flight, 
M?birth-duy 


November  9*A,  IH- 

!>AY. 

f  oourae  \  n  and  eve,  yesterday, 

It  ban  bcrn  qtiito  a  way. 

H«w  my  clmru.  I  heard  once  again 

in  the  Bolcmii 
the  nod  v'  .V0» 

.lie, 
-  a  caiiti> 

•;Sill«tid«*">f  W 

1,  .,  wears  the  thai" 


STOLEN  WATERS.  35 

Went  down  town  this  P.M.  my  friend  Annie,  and  I. 
Bo  I  stopped  in  the  store  as  I  chanced  to  pass  by ; 
I  ptirchased  a  magazine,  at  the  same  time 
Looking  'round  for  the  owner,  that  "  Unknown  "  of  mina 
And  I  looked  not  in  vain  !  for,  apart  from  the  rest, 
He  sat,  calm,  serene,  at  a  low  private  desk 
Swiftly  writing — oh,  would  that  it  had  been  to  me 
He  was  tracing  those  lines,  graceful,  careless,  and  free, 
Intent  on  his  task,  never  once  raised  his  head, 
Nor  while  I  was  in  there  a  single  word  said. 
He  did  look  so  handsome,  so  splendid,  so  grand, 
Sublimely  unconscious,  that  so  near  at  hand 
Was  a  girl  just  sufficiently  foolish  to  let 
His  mild,  handsome  face  haunt  her  thoughts  even  yet. 

But  enough !  let  him  pass  !  I  have  seen  him,  and  when 
I  get  ready  a  note  I  will  send  him,  and  then 
Perhaps  he  will  sit  in  the  very  same  place, 
And  over  my  letter  bend  his  handsome  face. 


November  15th,  1863. 

SUNDAY. 

The  last  week  passed  quietly,  calmly  away, 
With  nothing  important  to  mark  its  brief  stay. 
Aly  sister  came  home  from  the  East,  Thursday  morn, 
And  the  next  day  a  note  from  my  friend,  "  Colonel  John." 
That  is  all,  I  believe,  that  is  worthy  of  note, 
Except  that  one  evening  a  few  lines  I  wrote, 


36  STOLEN  WATERS. 

Intending  to  soiul  it  off  to  my  "  Unknown," 

But  iny  heart  having  f.;:  I   l«-ft  it  alone, 

:iij)let«, 
But  I  tliink  1  i*  week. 

iid  at  home, 
And  i  1  I  went  i  lone. 

lira  we  went  in; 
•  ir  places  to  sing. 
tl  place, 

fine,  manly  face ; 
ith  its  radiance  warm, 

MS  form, 
s  strange  i  \o  once  more, 

tore. 
.'. 
I  am  cure  that  !(/•••  to  know. 

tie, 
,  time  after  time, 

Therr'n  Colonel  Allair,  to  1» 

1     uli  dearl 

s  fine,  manly  graoa, 
voice  CVIT  HO  ; 

I'.ict  that  I  know 
Bo  •  <••  more, 

MU  HUH-  i  be  oYr. 

'ADOO  would  break  the  »••  I  iu  sure, 

Ami  iuth  fully  effect  a  full  cure. 


STOLEN  WATERS.  37 

Well  1  the  service  soon  ended  as  all  things  must  do, 
And  here  I  sit  talking,  my  Journal,  to  you, 
And  showing,  you  see,  just  how  foolish  I  am, 
To  waste  so  many  thoughts  on  a  quite  unknown  man. 
But  there !  not  a  single  word  more  will  I  write  I 
So  J  bid  you,  my  Journal,  once  more  a  good-night. 


November  18^,  1863. 

WEDNESDAY. 

Well !  the  deed  is  accomplished,  the  die  has  been  cast, 
And  I've  sent  to  my  "  Unknown  "  a  letter,  at  last  1 
I  wrote  it  last  evening,  despatched  it  to-day, 
He'll  receive  it  to-morrow,  if  there's  no  delay, 
['m  impatient  to  know  what  its  destiny  '11  be ; 
If  he'll  deign  to  send  a  nice  answer  to  me, 
In  "  charity  "  written,  with  kindly  words  fraught,  • 
Or  cast  it  aside  as  unworthy  a  thought — 
Misconstruing  the  motive  with  which  it  was  sent, 
Alone  on  its  author  bestow  his  contempt. 
My  letter  ran  nearly  as  follows,  I  guess, 
First,  the  usual  form  of  the  date  and  address : 
Date—  "  New  York,  November  18th,  '63 

Address —         "  My  dear  Sir : 

"  I  trust  you'll  pardon  me, 
And  not  deem  me  bold  if  I  send  you  a  line, 
You  a  stranger  !     Thus  laying  aside,  for  a  time, 
All  etiquette  rules ;  hoping  you'll  not  refuse 
To  freely  forgive  me ;  and  for  my  excuse, 

4G988 


SS  STOLEN  WATERS. 

Pleadi  von,  and  my  hopes  you  will  send 

A  few  lines  in  answer  to  your  unknown  friend. 

I  saw  you  at  first,  if  I  r  right, 

Urer  one  year  ago,  ami  ''  rJght 

What  drew  my  attention  at  one  \ , 

I  know  nut,  unless  'twas  the  glance  of  your  eye, 
smile  on  your  .ireless,  and  free, 

vour  exquisite  voice  ever  i-hunuiug  to  me. 

•*•  seen  you  again  and  again, 
i-ach  tim<-  :i,  than  then; 

B  no  skill 
••ading  001  '" 

'^  I  may  say  you're  not  one  to  object 
To  a  nnocent — yet 

It"  I  ;t  I 

"•art 

•  vo's  dart'? 

;!1, 

<  to  be  still  ? 

range — *  .'.  "\i  know 

o  are  many  strangu  UiiugH  in  :  Id  of  woo ; 

And  I  must  rqn'at  my  ftolr  :  >  be, 

loaire  from  yi>  ~  to  receive — 

ivt-<l  u  n  .  <>r  BO, 

At.  i  <1>  i  know  ; 

ill  the  wu.. 
»  'til  not  my  ii  .  my 


STOLEN  WATERS.  39 

Or  aught  of  myself,  and  am  sure  'twill  be  vain 

For  you  to  attempt  any  knowledge  to  gain 

Of  your  correspondent,  and  it  is  alone 

A  future  acquaintance  to  you'll  make  me  known. 

But  here  let  me  tell  you,  en  passant,  my  friend, 

That  though  to  a  stranger  this  letter  I  send, 

That  though  '  to  thee  only  e'er  turns  my_fpnd  heart, 

AndJiiieis^lHoneT^exceptwhere  jthjoujirt,' 

Though  I  sometimes  '  long  for  a  glimpse  of  your  face, 

With  hopeless^  heaxt-aghings  for  one  dear  embrace,* 

Yet  your  wife — if  you  have  one — is  not,  by  the  by, 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  any  purer  than  I, 

And  the  friendship  I  now  entertain  for  you,  too, 

Is  as  disinterested,  as  sincere,  and  true, 

As  the  most  nice,  fastidious  person  could  wish. 

I  presume  that  I  need  not  ask  you  to  keep  this 

Strictly  private  ;  a  man  of  your  age  can  but  know 

That  it  is  for  your  own  interest  to  do  so, 

Even  more  than  for  mine.     And,  indeed,  I  may  say, 

That  it  matters  but  little  to  me,  either  way, 

For  you  are  acquainted  with  no  one  that  knows 

Che  hand  which  I  write.     So  you  see,  I  suppose, 

ton  can  know  naught  of  me,  except  what  I  propose 

fhis  time  or  in  future  to  you  to  disclose. 

"  Now  in  closing  my  note,  I  ask — will  you  nc  1  send 
4.  few  lines  in  answer  to  your  unknown  friend  ? 
A.nd  if,  in  the  mean  time,  you  should  regard  this 
With  favor  sufficient  to  grant  me  my  wish, 
Will  you  not  oblige  me  by  wearing  your  ring 
On  your  left  hand,  the  next  Sabbath  morn,  wl  en  you  sing  I 
Not  so  ignorant  am  I  of  what  we  all  call 
The  *  world,'  not  to  fancy  with  readiness  all 


AC  STOLEN  WAT  E  US. 

You  may  think  of  the  one  who  this  note  sends  to  you. 

But  judge  me  with  U  is  my  clue, 

And  some  time  you  may  have  occasion  to  change 

opinion  of  me  ! — 'twould  be  naught  very  strung* 
Now,  hoping  to  hear  from  yon  during  the  week, 
I  am, 

"  With  sine* -i 

«  Yours. 

" « Bitter-Sweet.' " 

r,  except  my  address,  is  tin-  whole,  I  believe, 
v  Live  an  an 

But  probably  not  'till  tin-  following  week. 
I  am  glud  I  have  finished — I'm  almost  asleep. 


November  22d,  1863. 


One  more  holy  Sabbath  has  vanished  among 

\  ml  once  more  I  am  come 

-uul,  with  you  ; 
•  us  to  do, 

•H  very  long,  I  expect, 
arly  eleven  now,  1 
I  don't  like  to  go  to  bed  early  on* 

uit,  an  I  laid  the  hud  time  Uiat  I  wrote, 
uv«  gone  yestenla  t*  a  note 

At  the  office  was  waiting,  in  answer  to  mine 
I  despatched  to  my  unk  i  >n<-o  on  a  time.*' 


STOLEN  WATERS.  *J 

But  when  I  was  dressed,  and  Lad  stepped  out  the  door, 

I  perceived  what  I'd  qtiite  failed  to  notice  before, 

That  'twas  then  raining  fast ;  so  I  thought  I'd  delay 

My  walk  to  another  and  pleasanter  day. 

I  did  D.ot,  in  fact,  care  about  getting  wet, 

And  'twas  doubtful,  beside,  if  he'd  written  me  yet. 

Well*.  I've  been  out  to  church  morn  and  evening  agaii., 
As  a  matter  of  course,  my  dear  Journal !  and  when 
The  choir  were  come  forward  the  first  time  to  sing, 
Of  course  my  first  glance  was  for  his  diamond  ring. 
And  my  first  thought  for  him  !    And  as  then  from  my  booV 
I  raised  my  eyes  slowly,  my  first  quiet  look 
Was  rewarded  by  seeing  him  standing  up  there, 
And  looking  as  merry,  as  gay,  free  from  care, 
As  handsome,  as  smiling,  as  splendidly  grand, 
As  ever  before.     And  there  on  his  left  hand, 
And  taking  especial  pains  to  have  it  seen, 
Was,  as  I  expected,  his  elegant  ring. 
To-morrow  some  time  I'll  be  certain  to  go 
To  see  if  he's  sent  me  a  letter  or  no. 
Or  if  he  was  playing  when  carrying  out 
The  request  I  in  mine  made  his  fine  ring  about. 

My  brother  and  sister  were  in  town  to-night, 
And  went  to  church  with  us. 

My  "  Unknown""  was  |mt« 
Amused  about  something,  but  I  do  not  know, 
Of  course,  what  it  was.     But — I  think  that,  although 
With  the  same  laughing  glance  he  looked  into  my  eyes. 
Betraying  therein  no  unusual  surprise, 
No  curious  wonder,  yet  he  does  not  dream 
That  I'm  his  unknown  correspondent,  I  ween. 


43  '-R8. 

•.£  still  remained  on  his  Vft  haini 

'   hut  he  d  ki>  quite 

,-ffbrt  to  hold  it  in  such  a  way,  thru, 
.-d — as  he  ili«l  this  A.M. 
1  him,  as  often  he  stands, 

'A  in  that  hand 
nU'  and  writing  of  him 
lay  'till  my  oyt-s  aiv  (piitc  dim, 
nj>  this  instant,  and  write 
Not  one  <  •  in  my  journal  to-night. 


'•th,  1863. 

THURSDAY. 

.%\n     But  first  let  me  write 

A'luit  lias  hapiH-noil  -t  Sunday  nigkt-  - 

Thut  i.s,  th-  re  all  ofmj  r<  atare  !•  :  w<-,-k, 

t-et, 

;  must  know 
.iggcd  tediously  slow, 
>o  Uaka  which  employed  1>  -uuls  and  tnj 

, 

'.ttienoe  I  my  most  • 

lin, 

y  brow, 
UnfUifigi  every  uerve,  'till  I'm  n-u<l 

*n, 
i  the  «rw  r'i- crown; 


STOLEN  WATERS. 

That  life  is  a  battle  the  strongest  must  win, 

Bo  they  powers  of  good,  be  they  powers  of  sin. 

So  much  for  impatience  !  which,  last  Monday  mom 

An  unwelcome  guest,  which  refused  to  be  gone. 

With  hand  on  my  heart-strings,  kept  close  at  my  side, 

And  made  the  slow  hours  e'en  more  tardily  glide. 

Well  !  the  afternoon  really  did  come  at  last, 
And  about  two  o'clock,  or  a  few  minutes  past, 
I  was  dressed,  and  had  started  for  Brooklyn,  to  see 
If  there  was  at  the  office  a  letter  for  rue. 
(I  directed,  my  Journal,  his  answer  should  be 
Sent  to  Brooklyn  Post  Office,  in  order  that  he 
Might  the  less  reason  have  for  suspicions  of  me ; 
For  I,  of  course,  do  not  intend  he  shall  know 
Who  I  am,  either  now  or  hereafter,  and  so 
I  must  take  all  precautions  lest  he  should  find  out, 
As  he  would  be  glad  to  do,  I've  not  a  doubt!) 
Well !  when  the  detestable  clerk  tht  re  had  eyed 
Both  me  and  my  letter  till  quite  satisfied, 
And  quizzed  me  'till  patience  was  vanishing  fast, 
The  much  wished  for  letter  he  gave  me  at  last. 
With  it  safe  in  my  hand  I  left  there  in  great  haste, 
And  for  New  York  I  started  at  once  with  quick  pace; 
And  once  more  to  impatience  succumbing,  yoxi  see, 
And  regardless  of  what  etiquette's  rules  might  be 
On  the  point,  I  at  once  broke  the  seal  of  my  noce, 
And  in  the  street  read  what  my  unknown  friend  wrote; 
But  glanced  through  it  so  swiftly,  I  really  knew 
Little  more  of  my  letter  when  I  had  got  through 
Than  when  I  began ;  but  I  hastened  back  homo, 
As  fast  as  I  could,  and  when  once  more  alone 


44  STOLEN  WATERS. 

1        I  the  nice  note  to  my  heart's  full  content 

:i  he  to  hi.s  new  f i  i  .<lly  had  sent. 

He  writ<«s  an  uncommonly  nice,  handsome  hand, 

••ss  man, 
Full  wing  as  well  as  quite 

ssed  sentiments,  pleasing,  the  same; 
•  Carson's  Congress  "  it  was  written,  enclosed 
) >u tF envelope;  the  same,  I  suppose, 

s  in  his  office  for  use  when  he  writes 
isiness  friends.     That,  too,  is  just  what  I  like  ! 
over  a  man  »•  <T  to  me 

1J  a  manly  one  bo, 
nvelopo«,  and  handwriting,  too, 
A.H  well  aa  ita  contents  both  honest  and  true. 

>  over  a  lady  a  note  sends  to  me, 
I  don't  care  how  dainty  the  billet  may  be. 

•urniil,  dear, 
j^ive  to  you  here 
A  co] 

will,  too,  ily  have  time; 

• 
Wim  n..t  ui-:ir!y  lili.  •!.       1-  •  nrrd  — 

>•  18th  to  me 
to-day, 
And  ui  do  nothing  lorn  than  to  say, 

aa  well  aa  BUI  I  lmt  be 

&XD0what  jilcmimd    at    ita    ront«-ntM  1    But   you    mu.it    |*<i 

oeive 

That  you  hav«  indeed  the  advantage  of  me, 
And  I  am  of  ooone  very  curious  to  MO 


STOLEN  WATERS. 

And  know  you ;  altho'  you  need  have  not  a  fear 

I  will  take  any  means  not  quite  open,  and  clear, 

And  livery  way  hon'rable,  to  ascertain 

What  would  give  me  much  pleasure  to  have  you  explain, 

That  is,  who  is  taking  such  int'rest  in  me, 

And  who  my  unknown  correspondent  may  be. 

"  What  a  fine,  pretty  hand  yon  are  writing  1  and  so, 
Of  course,  young  and  fresh  it  must  be.     Do  you  know 
What  Don  Caesar  Bazan  exclaims  to  the  veiled  bride, 
As  he  takes  her  white  hand  upon  reaching  her  side  ? 
'  It's  tol'rably  soft,  and  I'm  curious  to  know, 
With  such  a  small  hand,  if  a  wrinkled  face  goes.* 
Now  that  is  just  what  is  the  trouble  with  me, 
And  I  wonder  if  I  could  your  hand  just  once  see, 
I  could  of  your  face  judge,  as  you  seem  to  trace — 
Or  affect  to  at  least — by  a  glance  at  my  face, 
My  character  social.     But,  let  me  ask  *  who 
Hath  made  thee  a  judge  '  as  between  me  and  you  ? 
Who  has  said  I  objected  to  what  you  have  called 
An  *  innocent  flirtation  ? '     Oh,  no  1  not  at  all ! 
And  as  to  the  *  vanity,'  I  have  my  share. 
King  Solomon  seems  to  have  had  some  to  spare, 
If  we  judge  by  his  words. 

"  But  there  !  I  cannot  wntw 
To  you,  except  'tis  with  some  vagueness,  to-night, 
As  I  do  not  know  who  you  may  be — man  or  woman, 
A  spirit  or  goblin,  Divine  or  quite  huni;ui. 
And  do  you  remember  what  '  Sam  Weller '  says 
(Of  course  you  read  Dickens  ;  all  do  in  these  days), 
'  Weal  pies  wery  good  is^when_Qrie  knows  as  what 
They  jjre  made  of.'     But  who  yoi   may  be  I  know  not, 


V  WATERS. 

<ugh  the  writing  does  look  quit*,  familiar,  'tis  true  J 

!    A  re  you  ? 

IT  wish  is  to  see  m  u  <-:m  ilo  so  1 

i,  no  cam  I.  you  know. 

I'll  go,  by  th« 

And  a  <V  irchase — shall  I  ? 

Do  you  mean  to  som--  tun  huvo  at  my  sole  expense? 
Itve  ;i  <i  have  sent, 

.  hut  think  it  will  keep 

.  met  ! ' 
you, 
due ' 

Heve 
I  may  say,  too. 

sing,  receive 

M7  kl  .  and  Ix'lieve  me  to  be, 

Now  .^ 

r  Sweet! '  (wormwood  and  sugar.)" 

And  tin 
Wa«  the  i-iid  and  waa  all.     Can  it  be  'tis  in  fact 

in  my  hand? 

:m 
»  eye*  have  so  ,  •  ,I1V  ownf 

oiliar  has  grov 
whoae 

'     i    :'       i'i'  !-    thi-M-   kind   wertin  h»i« 


STOLEN  WATERS. 

That  his  heart  or  his  brain  has  dictated  this  note, 
A.  pleasing  reply  to  the  one  which  I  wrote  ? 
I  cannot  the  fact  realize. 

By  the  way  ! 

I  saw  at  an  artist's  rooms  lately,  one  day, 
A  picture  exactly  like  my  "  Antony." 
(En  passant,  he  seemed  to  adopt  readily, 
The  fanciful  name  which  I  signed  to  my  note, 
And  instead  of  his  using  his  own  when  he  wrote, 
He  too  took  a  fancy  one !  mine  ought  to  be 
"  Cleopatra,"  to  match  well  with  his  "  Antony !") 
To  return  to  the  picture !    And  whose  it  might  be, 
Or  if  it  was  his,  I  was  anxious  to  see. 
The  resemblance  was  striking,  the  painting,  too,  fine. 
I  gazed  at  its  details  for  quite  a  long  time. 
I  was  sure  it  was  him,  or  that  if  it  was  not, 
Whoever  it  was,  he  had  certainly  caught 
His  smile  and  expression !  and  not  only  that, 
The  poise  and  contour  of  the  head  were  exact. 
The  features  were  like,  and  the  beard  worn  the  same, 
And  in  all  points  the  likeness  was  perfectly  plain. 
His  name  of  the  artist  I  presently  asked. 
What  was  it  ?  let's  see !  I  believe  it  has  passed 
Wholly  out  of  my  mind.     But  it  matters  not,  though 
He  resides  up  at  Harlem  is  all  that  I  know. 
It  was  not  my  "  Antony." 

Ob,  by  the  way, 

Had  I  gone  to  the  office  on  last  Saturday 
His  note  I  should  probably  found,  as  the  date 
Was  November  19th.     But  it's  getting  quite  late, 
I  roust  baste  with  what  else  I'm  intending  to  wrice. 


r:iis. 

.-*»,  lost  Monday  night, 
WAS  lite 

:i  to  send 
K8ncx  iend, 

' 

ily  upiiro-. 

.  .jj.0. 


ieK-er. 
and  get  i 

keep 

'!»J, 

'  '-'     '  '      :'  •        •    ••'      ..:  . 

•Mghli 

'•n  dim  ex  •••they  on 

- 


\V      1  rofce 

v. 

ISrM 

" 

rue, 
"WMWI'  nob 

But  x 

''•••'       •  rim.  nf. 

As  tli«  fri 

'  .,-,.,,t 


STOLEN  WATE3S. 

Is  too  fresh  and  too  faint  to  be  named  a  perfume, 
So  this  was  too  faint  and  too  pare. 

To  resume ! 

I  thanked  him,  of  course,  for  replying  so  soon, 
And  fulfilling  my  wish  in  regard  to  the  ring, 
Was  exceedingly  glad  to  find,  I  assured  him, 
By  the  letter  which  I  that  P.M.  had«received, 
That  he  in  that  point  at  least  had  not  deceived 
If  is  friend  yet  unknown,  howe'er  treacherous  he 
Might  in  the  dim  future  himself  prove  to  be. 
I  gave  him  in  answer  to  what  he  would  know 
Of  me  and  my  name  the  quotation  below : 
"  I  know  a  girl  with  sunny  curls, 

And  shoulders  white  as  snow ; 
She  lives — ah,  well !  I  must  not  tell, 

But  wouldn't  you  like  to  know  ? 
She  has  a  name,  the  sweetest  name 

That  mortal  can  bestow. 
Twould  break  the  spell  if  I  should  toll, 

But  wouldri't  you  like  to  know  ?  " 
Somewhat  tantalizing  he'll  think  it,  I  fear, 
The  best  I  can  do  for  him  now,  though,  howe'er 
Desirous  he  may  be  to  know  more  of  me. 
Then  I  said — 

"  So  you  fancy  that  if  you  could  see 
My  hand  you  could  judge  of  my  face  !     I  will  try 
And  «end  you  a  photograph  of  it.     Shall  I? 
Of  course  you  can't  guess  who  I  am  !  I  did  not 
Suppose  that  you  could  !  but  I  know  all  aboxit 
You  and  yours !  and  not  only  that,  but  I've  bw^ 
In  your  business  place,  and  you  wero  writing,  too, 
But  it  was  not  to  me. 
3 


60  725. 

"  Don't  you  lik",  my  dear  frienu, 
My  notn  de  plume ':     NVliy  !  I  am  sure  that  the  end 
Is  nweet  if  the  rest  IB  not ;  possibly,  you 

i.  if  I'm  tweet,  I  am  bitter  some,  too. 
It*  language  is  'tnUhS     I  iK-H.-vf  I  urn  true  ! 

ink  the  name  ]  ill  ways  !  don't  you?" 

,-nding  tha  service  to-day, 
•hing  prevented,  and  went  on  to  say 

•  uM  see  him  at  all,  where  I  sit, 
iring  singing,  and  if  he  saw  fit 

•  I,  just  so  he  could  see 

would  please  me. 

••  1  'lo  '  wish  to  see  you,'  iind  <1» 

.  irdly  dare  trust  inysrlf  too 
Near  to  you  t  -  -sent,  at  least.    I  can  you 

At  a  safe  distance  BOO,  but  if  you  would  plcnso 

to  your,  though  unknown,  yet  true  frionJ 
Twould  indeed  please  her  mu« -h." 

ii  I  asked  liim  if  he 
•••try;  and — saucily — 

i  think  it  was  flattering,  quita  ; 

I  I 

>nit«  to  in 

>te  iomewhat  mor  rest  go. 

i-^d  Tery  hard  all  iliy  Tu«-.ml.. 

•  ml 

that  day,  so  1 

aving  received  it  as  y<  t .  ight 

Just  pootibly  corae  to  hi«  hinds  late  last  night 


STOLEN  WATERS.  51 

To  day  is  "  Thanksgiving  " — I  said  so  before— 
And  I'm  heartily  glad  that  the  day  is  now  o'er. 
The  morning  was  pleasant,  but  cold.     I  must  own 
'Twas  not  with,  reluctance  I  "went  out  alone 
To  church  this  A.M.     No  one  else  was  inclined 
To  go  out,  or  in  fact  seemed  to  have  enough  time 
To  spare  for  the  purpose.     And  though  it  is  true 
We  should  have  a  political  sermon,  I  knew, 
Yet  I  had  my  "  Antony  "  told  I  should  go, 
And  I  mean  to  do  just  as  I  promise,  you  know ! 
The  sermon,  if  possible,  seemed  rather  more 
Triumphantly  ultra  than  ever  before. 
The  reverend  man  never  energy  lacks 
When  he's  preaching  of  war,  or  of  freeing  the  blacks. 
I  did  not,  however,  expect  on  this  day 
To  hear  aught  but  that ;  but  endeavored  to  pay 
As  little  attention  to  it  as  I  could, 

Though  I  could  but  acknowledge  that  some  points  were  good 
For  instance,  he  quoted  in  his  matchless  way, 
A  poem  from  Whittier,  which,  I  must  say, 
Was  not  only  pertinent,  in  itself  fine, 
Bxit  rendered  exquisitely. 

Tn  the  meantime, 

I  thought  of  my  Antony,  who,  I  well  knew 
Was  right  there  before  me,  though  hidden  from  view. 
When  the  service  was  over,  and  we  going  home, 
He  walked  right  in  front  of  me,  he,  too,  alone  1 
How  little  he  knew  that  his  friend  "  Bitter  Sweet " 
Was  so  near  at  hand  as  he  turned  at  his  street. 

I  wished  that  the  spell  were  dissolved  toat  must  keep 
forever  apart  j  that  at  QUO  mighty  sweep 


OLEN   WATERS. 

-  ora  doth  bind 
.r  minds. 

rod  hia  dooj 
rose  one  bairn  r  more. 

I,  too,  hastened  hoi  >•  before, 

We've  a  houseful  of  visitors  had  here  all  day  ; 
I  might  h:i  i'oen  gay, 

I  am  Bometiiues.     Hark  !  the  clock's  striking  one, 
I  am  to  tired,  and  glad  that  at  hut  I  have  done ! 


November  29*A,  1863. 

SUNDAY. 

Another  week's  rapidly  flitted  away ; 

To  make  a  ahort  call  on  my  cousin  Lorette, 
•s  that  I  also  :.  get. 

i  not  approve 
uuintic  and  soniev  i  move. 

•  )I.T.     We  soon  w«  nt  upstairs 

uid  when 

iced  me  at  once  in  !mir, 

gave  me  my  lutter,  all  safe,  smooth,  and  fair. 

liking  the  sen!  >te, 

Or  reading  Ui<  .y  wrote. 

trs,  reoeire  mine 
.y  A.M.      '  tt<-r  i/vw  fine, 

Much  nicer 
And  gave  me  much  pleasure,  i  own !     It  commenced 


STOLEN  WATERS. 

"  To  my  sweetest  Bitter,  and  bitterest  Sweet  1 " 
A  form  of  address  I  thought  rather  unique, 
Yet  characteristic  of  him,  I  believed. 
A.nd  then  wrote  as  follows  : 

"  Your  note  I  received 

In  this  morning's  mail,  and  of  course  I  was  pleased 
At  hearing  from  you.     But  you'll  please  recollect 
That  Thanksgiving  came  yesterday,  therefore  expect 
From  a  quite  torpid  brain  not  much  brilliance  to-day, 
In  reply  to  your  letter.     And  here  let  me  say 
I  believe  that  I  am  not  afflicted  at  all 
With  a  certain  disease  which  is  commonly  called 
{ Cacoethes  Scribendi.' " 

And  then  he  went  on 

To  ask  if  I  went  to  church  Thanksgiving  morn, 
And  heard  the  "  political  sermon."     He  thought, 
As  regards -abolition  and  war,  that  it  ought 
To  content  the  most  ultra — I'd  written  in  mine 
That  I  was  exceedingly  fond  of  that  kind. — 
He  was  pleased  that  his  letter  was  gladly  received, 
And  hoped  I'd  enough  "  charity  "  to  believe 
It  to  be  on  his  part  but  a  mere  oversight 
That  he  failed  in  his  other  to  ask  me  to  write. 
Says — 

"  1  ask  who  you  are,  and  you  give  me  a  bit 
Of  a  poem  in  answer.     Now  I  will  admit 
Poetry  is  indeed  very  good  in  its  place, 
But  don't  answer  questions — at  least  in  tliis  case. 
Of  course  I  should  much  '  like  to  know '  who  you  a_w, 
My  far-off,  unknown,  '  bright  particular  star  ! ' 
Do  not  send  me  a  photograph,  though,  of  your  hand*} 
If  you  do  m  not  have  it,  indeed  1  but  you  can 


6*  STOLEN  WATERS. 

itself  place  in  my  own,  then  I'd  know 
I  was  holding  in  mine  something  more  tl  an  shadow  ; 

:i  send  me.     How,  though, 
.  mine  to  UUP  I  as  yet  do  not  know? 
not  lost  my  reason,  or  caution,  and  still 
You  can  have  a  good  chance  to  exchange  if  yon  will, 
u  I've  mi-lit  to  exchange  wi 


much  I  would  likf 
e  !      !!•  -NV  I  \\i  h  that  I  might 
ins,  if  in  no  other  way 

.s  needless  to  say, 

He'd  know  me 
As  HOOII  u  he  saw  it,  mid  that  must  not  be. 

I  cannot  let  him  know, 

i  him  so. 
<>w  me  sonic  time. 

MII  on,  friend  of  mine  ! 
nT"  an  anchor  both  suf  e 
•Laud.     T  i  find  it  a  lure 

. 

^^•B^diBanj^'  •••-•  fair, 

:th, 

vraith  — 

' 

1 

hearts  will  break, 

Then  leares  UM  I  l».  d.-fi-rn-i" 

I  b/ivo  a  dour  fri«i  1  often  ha  TO  heard 


STOLEN  WATERS. 

Declare  she  has  been  disappointed  in  naughjb, 

Be/ause  she  ne]er  hopes..     She  had  certainly  ought 

To  be  indeed  happy !     At  least,  I  think  so. 

I  envy  her  more  than  all  persons  I  know. 

Bui  I'm  not  like  her ;  I  have  less  self-control, 

A.  more  turbulent  heart,  and  more  intense  soul; 

Have  less  calmness  of  nerve,  and  less  coolness  cf  brain, 

Less  firmness,  more  impulse ;  in  short,  it  is  plain 

We  are  cast  in  two  moulds  which  are  very  unlike, 

Or  made  of  materials  different  quite. 

But  if  I  could  crush  out  all  hope  from  my  heart, 

And  in  my  acts  give  the  "  fair  siren  "  no  part, 

List  not  to  her  calls,  shut  my  eyes  to  her  smiles, 

And  yield  nevermore  to  her  dangerous  wiles, 

Feel  free  from  her  temptings  both  now  and  alway. 

I  would  have  nothing  more  to  desire !     I  could  sar, 

"  Howl,  wind  of  NdVember,  rough,  wrathful,  and  chilly, 

As  loud  as  you  please,  and  I'll  not  take  it  illy, 

For  here  in  my  chamber  all's  comfort  and  ease, 

All's  peace  and  delight,  all  is  pleasure  and  glee, 

For  I'm  happy  to-night  as  a  mortal  can  be !  " 

But  "  Dum  spiro  spero  "  's  my  fate,  and  should  be 

My  motto  1 

Well !  back  to  his  note — let  me  see ! 
How  far  had  I  written  ?     The  picture — and  then 
The  next  thing  he  wrote  was,  I  think,  near  the  end— 
"  Your  quotation — I  surely  no  fault  found  with  it, 
For  'twas  good,  and  if  true  was  of  course  better  yet. 
But  then,  I  am  sure  it  was  merely  ideal, 
And  I  send  you  my  own,  and  imagine  it  reaL 
This  scrawl  please  excuse,  and  believe  me 

"Year  own 

"  Antony , 


M  STOLEN  WATERS. 

"  To  my  <  Bitter-Sweet'  " 

TLis  was  the  poem  : 

M  Yojljdgsedjne  !  my  head  had  dropped  low  on  your 

breast, 
a  feeling  of  shelter  and  infinite  rest, 

i  ay  tongue  dared  not  apeak 
a  flame  from  my  heart  to  my  cheek. 
\l  me  las'  ir  arms  were  so  bold, 

Heart  beat  against  heart  in  that  rapturous  fold, 

glances  seemed  drawing  my  soul  through  my  eyes, 

lie  sea  to  the  skies. 

<-lun£  to  iiiiii.-  'till  I  pra\v<l,  in  my  I1 

They  miglr  -pturous  kiss. 

"  XouLjeiajjed  me  !  my  heart  and  my  breath  and  my  will 

HIS, 

•ms. 

. 

. 
. 
liut  havQi 


:  J\  with  wine 
.  if  <  loath, 

;r  hreatL 

Twcred''i:  :     -li-  if  n,\    1,.  .ir-   mighi  jrn.w  rold 

While  your  arms  wrapped  me  round  in  that  paairfoiiate  t 


STOLEN  WATERS.  57 

Aitd  these  are  the  questions  I  ask  day  and  night : 

**_»'  ~-        __ -^i^***""**—    ••"J"^ 

Must  my  soul  taste  but  once  such  exquisite  delight  ? 
Would  yoi  care  if  your  breast  was  my  shelter  as  then, 
And  if  you  we£eT^r^wojald_^ou_kiss  me  again  ?  " 

I  think  it  exquisitely  fine.     And  of  course 

— i       ,_     •—    ^J—        -  "^T 

Seems  doubly  expressive  to  6ome  from  that  source. 

Impassioned  and  pweet,  yet  refreshingly  pure, 

No  fault  I  can  have  to  find  with  it,  I'm  sure. 

But  to  come  to  to-day !  and  to  hasten  it,  too, 

For  as  ever  'tis  late,  I  must  quickly  get  through. 

To  church  morn  and  eve  I  of  course  went  to-day, 

Saw  my  "Antony,"  too,  just  as  handsome  and  gay — 

He  does  have  such  an  easy  and  nonchalant  way, 

As  if  nothing  could  ruffle  him,  let  others  say 

Or  do  what  they  might.     And  his  temper  is  sweet, 

I  am  certain,  as  well  as  his  manner  just  meet 

To  match  with  his  face,  so  serene,  true,  and  kind. 

His  soft,  laughing,  passionate  eye  still  meets  mine, 

Persistently,  sweetly  as  ever,  and  yet 

I've  not  the  least  reason  to  think  he  suspectb 

That  I  am  his  Bitter-Sweet  1  never  a  trace 

Since  sending  my  first  have  I  seen  in  his  face 

Of  bewilderment,  doubt,  curiosity,  aught 

Of  inquisitive  wonder.     'Tis  strange  he  does  not 

Have  any  suspicions,  not  only  of  me 

But  of  no  one  beside.     There  are  many  that  he 

Might  with  very  good  reason  imagine  to  be 

His  unknown  correspondent. 

Oh  well,  let  it  paw! 
I  sent  him  an  answer  to-day  to  his  last. 
8* 


58  V   WATERS. 

I  di,  l.y  the  ways 
He  sat  IK  i  in  f:o:it  ;is  I  jiskod  him,  to-<lay; 

.-•  thinks  IU;'H  not  anxious  to  be 

'ny  me, 

That  'tin  sufficient  that  h« 

la  constantly  conscious  that  some  one  unknown 
IB  watching  ea  n  and  look  of  his  own 

:  iigs.     So  ho  sat  iii  I  seat 

i  ,  morning,  and  so  Bitter-Sweet** 

Request  was  unheeded      I  asked  what  ho  did, 
In  my  letter  t<>  u  ho  sat  safely  hid  , 

Prom  sight  in  the  "  corner." 

Tis  late,  and  in  bed 
f  must  hasten  to  pillow  my  quite  wearied  head. 


December  2d,  18G3. 

\V];DM:SDAY. 

i  lo  evening,  nearly.     Mj  great  easy  chair 

table  drawn  close  t  -lit  glowing  grate, 

ing  qifke  late, 

oopened  before  mo.     The  night, 
.  ' 

y -closed  blind 
••  of  Dec*  !  .       ;!1  wind, 

lu  soft  r,i  ranee  at  casemrnt  and  door, 

I  have,  an  I  aaid,  &  ro  before, 

Blow  yi(»liiing  to  Fancy's  magnetic  advance, 

niry  bright  dreams,  heart-bewildcriog  traaoa 


STOLEN  WATERS.  59 

At  intervals  writing,  when  not  in  the  power 
Of  the  lovely  enchantress,  'till  hour  after  hour 
Have  rolled  their  swift  round,  to  return  never  more 
From  the  vanishing  past,  from  Eternity's  shore. 
"  Like  a  song  that  is  sung,  and  a  tale  that  is  told," 
They  havo  now  passed  away,  and  the  day  waxes  old. 
Midnight  softly  approaches,  and  swift,  one  by  one, 
The  minutes  glide  onward,  and — this  day  is  done  ! 
The  clock's  striking  twelve,  my  watch  ticks  a  response 
And  silence  and  midnight  are  now,  for  the  nonce, 
Of  our  city  twin-monarch  s  unquestioned.     The  bell 
Slowly  tolls  for  the  hour  just  departed,  and  swells 
Softly  deep  on  the  clear,  frosty  air.     Now  the  last 
Stroke  is  dying — farewell  to  to-day ! 

I  had  passed 

To  the  casement  a  short  time  ago,  and  I  drew 
Up  the  shade  to  look  out  on  the  night.     And  a  view 
Before  me  was  spread  I've  no  words  to  describe. 
My  seat  I  resumed,  but  I  left  open  wide 
Every  blind  in  the  room,  that  the  full  lustrous  tide 
Of  the  night's  perfect  beauty  might  entrance  gain  heie, 
While  I  sit  here  and  write. 

And  the  picture  spreads  cfear 
And  sweetly  before  me !  The  city  lies  calm 
In  night's  silent  embrace ;  and  a  lullaby  psalm 
Is  sung  by  the  wind,  though  it  tranquilly  sleeps 
And  heeds  not  the  clasp  or  the  music  which  sweeps 
So  fitfully,  tendqrly  o'er  it.     Its  spires, 
Gleaming  while  in  the  moonlight,  now  seem  to  point  higher 
Than  ever  before  to  the  home  of  the  blest. 
All  with  eloquence  speaks  of  sweet  quiet  and  rest. 


60  STOLEN  WATERS. 

So  much  for  the  background !     And  now  in  the  fore 
Th*>  park  lies  all  silent,  the  trees  festooned  o'er 

creamy  white  snow-wreaths,  and  ice-pendanta,  too, 

!••;,  or  morning's  clear  Jew. 

As  •  •  streams  the  moonlight.     The  street 

I»  deserted  !  ami  hark  !   1  can  hear  my  heart  beat, 
S°  l'r  iie  long,  deep  shadows  meet 

ig,  too,  figures  \iniijuo, 
Graceful,  fanciful,  fl  shifting,  too, 

As  ti  lie  white  tree-branches  through. 

all  is  the  arched  azure  sky, 

:>ly  1'lue  and  i;  The  moon's  riding  high 

,  and  her  radiance  bright 
ml  lights 

And  tho  stars, 
itilleecent,  unnuml 

.11  all  in  • 

ill  al>ove, 
love 

lian  any  shines  f->ft  f,-,,in  afar- 
Sweet  V.  iM-aiitiful 

n-  now  turn  away 
in  it*  beautiful  self,  vshil,-  I  ,-„„„.  to  to-day— 

Th«  day  just  d'-p.irt'-d. 

'or  again, 

uld 
A11  t!"  u  -od  verygoodj 

1  a  long  way  to  go, 
And  hojxM  |  not  disappoint  me ;  and  so 


STOLEN  WATERS.  61 

His  letter  was  promptly  dispatched.     He  replied 
As  follows  to  that  part : 

"  You  do  not  reside 

In  Brooklyn,  my  Bitter-Sweet?     Well!  it  is  true 
I  hardly  supposed  that  you  did ;  nor  did  you 
Even  say  that  you  did :  but  you  only  implied 
It  in  your  first  letter." 

The  city  is  wide, 

He  cannot  locate  me.     Poor  boy  !  'tis  too  bad 
I  can't  tell  him  the  whole.     I  am  sure  I'd  be  glad 
To  do  so  at  once,  if  I  thought  'twould  be  best. 
Think  of  that,  though,  I  must,  not !     And  now  for  the  rest 
And  hastily  too,  of  my  Antony's  letter  ; 
It  was  not  very  long,  began — "  My  Sweet  Tormentor !  " 
He  acknowledged  at  first  the  receipt  of  my  note, 
Praising  me  for  the  promptness  with  which  I  last  wrote, 
Saying  I  would  an  excellent  post-mistress  be, 
And  then — 

"  But  don't  bother  my  life  out  of  me, 
Keeping  me  for  so  long  in  suspense,  like  a  fish 
With  a  hook  in  his  gills ! " 

So  my  gentleman  is 

Getting  rather  impatient,  I  see ;  nor  can  I 
Wonder  at  it,  indeed ;  but  I  can't  gratify 
My  dear  friend  in  this  point,  though  I  made  in  reply 
Promise  fair  of  acquaintance  with  me  By  and  by. 
He  was  glad  I  was  pleased  with  the  poem  he  sent, 
And  how  could  I  help  it  ?  "'twas  fine,  and  he  meant 
When  some  better  he  found  to  at  once  let  me 
He  sent  me  with  this  note  another  aleo. 
Then  he  said, — 


62  STOLEN  WATERS. 

"  lu  regard  to  the  *  corner '  I  read, 
Sometimes  '  tnooze"1  a  little,  don't  talk  much,  indeed; 
But  a  great  deal  of  thii.  I  fow  should  I 

For  u  I,ou«jh,  l>y  the  by, 

Jf  1  knew  where  you  sut,  n,  ips  get  a  glimpse 

Of  jou  once  in  a  \v  i 

I  remember  now,  since 
Rect-i  ,  that  I  in  my  last, 

'  thf  |HK'!..  \  :-••<!   M«>,"  hud  passed 

To  8a;  :irt  to  be 

()i»  til-  ^oho  must  see 

i  in  \\l.i.-li  a  "heart  beats  against  heart," 

.     That  part 
to  as  foil 

"  Now  as  to  the  heart, 
•o  be 

see 

i  heart  ? 
vo,  at  least,  main.  I  think,  f..r  n. 

i^e  or  so  i  says, 

vay  to  be  gom 

Mo  linil 

'. 

tony." 

So  a  -,    his  eve 

>  his  last,  and  will  r>-c 

I  trust,  ;M  .  in. .rii.     A  hist  look 

At  the  beautiful  u    •  1<  .sing  my  book. 


BTOLEN  WATERS.  68 

December  6th,  1863. 

SUNDAY. 

.Twilight  finds  me  again  in  my  nice  cosey  room, 
fe  cting  close  by  the  window ;  the  gathering  gloom 
Slowly  filling  my  sanctum  with  weird  shadows  grim, 
While  without  distant  objects  now  swiftly  grow  dim. 
Fading  are  the  rich  hues  from  the  far  western  sky, 
The  first  star  shines  out  in  the  blue  arch  on  high, 
And  the  short  winter  twilight  is  o'er.     I  must  light 
The  gas  in  my  sanctum  if  wishing  to  write. 
I've  sat  here  a  long  time,  my  eyes  on  the  grand 
Sunset  clouds  in  the  west,  with  my  cheek  in  my  hand, 
Unopened  the  book  in  my  lap.     A  tumult 
Of  vague  troubled  thoughts  in  my  mind,  the  result 
Of  to-day'a  observation  and  last  night's  event. 
I'll  tell  you  about  it ! 

'Twas  late  when  I  went 
To  B.  yesterday  for  my  letter.     The  day 
Had  been,  oh,  so  long  I     Failed  in  getting  away 
'Till  late  in  the  afternoon ;  then  it  to  me 
Seemed  an  endless  long  way  from  here  over  to  B. 
All  day  I  had  scarcely  dared  think  I  should  find 
Any  letter  awaiting  me  there,  and  my  mind 
And  nerves  were  so  wrought  up  with  hope,  doubt,  and  fear 
Being  anxious  to  go,  and  yet  forced  to  stay  here, 
That  I've  been  somewhat  irritable  all  the  day, 
Nervous,  too,  and — well, "  cross,""  I  once  heard  Gertrude  say 


64  STOLEN  WATERS. 

And  when  I  at  length  was  en  rattle  f  re's, 

As  I  suid  just  uhuve,  the  way  seemed  longer  yet 
Thw-i  When  I  reached  there  at  last, 

.sun  liad  long  set  and  'twas  growing  dark  fast. 
•ousin  I  f.iuml  entertaining  some  friends, 
And  I  thought,  I  am  sure,  their  call  never  would  end. 
Lorotte  guoesed  the  question  my  first  glance  implied, 
And  by  one  just  as  eloquent  quickly  replied. 

I'orud,  while  kissing  my  cheek, 
•i  letter  upstairs  f..r  my  d.-:ir  '  Bitter-Sweet'" 
•ed  to  */  itli.ni^h  inly  I  <-h:if'ed, 

i  <>f  nil  things,  iindjjfj^otjiings  !  and  ruved 

and  that  one's  sweet  face, 
new  dress,  of  Miss  B.'s  lovely  lace, 
ill,  hurt  ni-lit's  party,  and  so,  on  and  on, 
nee  wore  both  nearly  gone. 

•,  and  fouml 

:twMgro\s  .. trker  each  in. )ni,.n(.     The  sound 

wells  at  length  reached  my  cor;  and  then  1, 
i.-d,  turned  to  hid  them  good-by 

•t«   Kllllt    I  ,-^j 

-VH-SKOon  iu  my  h:uid, 

.     ,. 
ii.-d  to  H]>eak 

room 

1*  alone  v 

Howercr,  return  , 

•  orbert  t.  ,  ( 

.Monday  A.II.  ;  hut  I  *  toad 

To  her  room  f 


STOLEN   WATERS.  68 

And  her  home  dress  to  change  for  her  walking  attire. 
Her  toilet  was  made  with  a  speed  I  admire 
Very  much,  but  somehow  never  can  emulate, 
Ajid  homeward  we  started  at  once,  at  quick  rate. 
£he  returned  home  this  morning. 

And  now  for  his  let  to  I 
[  think  that  he  never  has  sent  me  a  better. 
And  yet,  as  I  said  once  before,  or  implied, 
It  gave  me  some  pain  if  much  pleasure.     Each  vied 
With  thejoJlieT£cr_cjonc^iej>t.     But  still,  of  the  two, 
E  think  the  m^siyT^e^sjire^remains^.     Though  'tis  t:  .ie 
I  scarcely  can  tell  which  is  yet  most  complete, 
But  if  pleasiire,  my  name  it  is  like,  bitter-sweet  t 
In  order  to  make  plain  some  parts  of  his  note, 
I'm  obliged  to  refer  to  some  things  which  I  wrote 
In  my  last  one  to  him.     And  first,  some  time  ago, 
In  one  of  my  letters,  and  when  he  was  so 
Very  curious  as  to  who  B.  S.  might  be, 
[  told  him  he  need  not  be  looking  for  me 
Among  Uttck-rycd  ladies  in  church.     And  I  this 
Said  because}  though  I  did  not  assuredly  wish 
Him  to  think  me  his  new  correspondent,  I  yet 
Did  not  care,  I  think,  either,  that  he  should  suspecl 
Any  one  else  but  me.     And  to  this  he  has  never 
Made  any  reply  'till  this  very  last  letter. 
Then  in  answer  to  what  he  about  the  P.M. 
In  his  other  had  said,  I  replied — 

"  When  I  spent 

Some  time  in  the  country,  a  few  years  ago, 
f  had  a  dear  friend  who  was  post-mistress.     So 
[  thought  it  Cue  fur  to  assist  her,  you 


STOLEN  WATERS. 

>w  wjuld  it  IK;  to  n  c,  therefoie,  you  see, 

uy? 

I  tl,;  hold  oflk'o,  altliough, 

Under  •  Abrah  I  told  him,  below, 

Was  going  down  town  tn  ha\c'  made,  by  and  by, 

..  nd  in  dying  gave  me, 

,t  see 

•\veet."      I  doubtful  somewhat, 

iiat  /•«,  too,  will  think  they  are  not 
:i  1  said,  too, 

••  I  cannot  send  you 
•:iinly  know 

i-s  to  me, 

<  r,  <>f  which  I  intend 
iM-^innin^  to  i-nd, 
;,  my  dear  .l..urn:i 
t,  aa  usual,  the  date,  then — 

••  M\  'Ant.'iiy':,  own  !  ' 
:  s  thi«  moniing,  and  find  you  nn-  still 
Mo  correspondence ;  and  will 

omiasf  also  ? 

"  How  came 

That  to  my  brain? 

V. 
Or  wa*  if 

tm  the  First'     Well, 
t  can't  say  that  /  do  a  great  deal  my 


STOLEN  WATERS.  67 

Although  I  doubt  not  there  are  yet  many  men 

That  are,  in  some  points,  worse  than  he  is.     But  then 

We  will  let,  as  a  mantle,  our  '  charity '  cover 

.Their  sins  of  omission  and  commission  over. 

Well !  I'm  just  as  inquisitive,  curious,  too, 

Now  as  ever  before.     Yours  are  not  *  eyes  of  blue  ' 

When  I'm  singing  at  church  I  so  frequently  meet 

Upturned  to  my  own,  are  they,  my  Bitter-Sweet? 

What  do  you  suppose  in  the  '  corner '  I  read  ? 

4  Words,  words,  words,'  but  I  think  not  a  little  indeed 

Of  late,  and  of  whom?  aye  !  my  friend,  that's  the  quostio; 

— . ~^—- — «-i    i  *^^—      ^i— *^*~^-3S^. — • — "^i       f —  *    -  ••"%••*</ 

Can  you  guess,  or  in  truth  make  the  slightest  suggestion 
As  to  who  it  might  be  ?     Do  we  not,  it  is  clear, 
Attend  service  the  preacher's  fine  sermons  to  hear, 
And  of  what  he  discourses  to  think  ? 

"  I  suppose 

When  you  have  your  ring  made  I  shall  see  it ;  who  knows 
But  I  am  a  judge  of  the  article,  too  ? 
Do  you  really  think  I  should  recognize  you 
If  your  picture  I  saw  ?     Well !  and  what  if  I  do  ? 
Are  you  so  ill-looking  that  you  are  afraid 
To  be  looked  at,  my  B.  S.  ? 

"  Quite  likely  you  may 

Have  before  seen  the  poem,  and  possibly,  too, 
The  first.     Both  were  good  !  I  think  this  is,  don't  yovi  t 
i  *  For  the  pillow  of  dawn  where  you  rest  your  head, 

I'll  pillow  my  own  on  your  breast  instead, 

For  love  can  soften  the  hardest  bed, 

1         v  _      •—••!—      '"•    ~"        •**•'  —     ••"•—    "^ 

And  I  know  that  I  love  you  ! 
And  when  you  grow  tired  of  your  marble  hal's, 
Of  your  weary  life  and  its  gilded  thralls,. 
Come  where  the  voice  of 


fiS  STOLF.y   WATERS. 


on  fi'iit  fsi  <lon.\!  ' 
\Vh.-u  am  I  to  see  ' 
No  longer  to  draw  on  tin-  imagination 

Of 

"  Your 

••  Antony?" 

With  full  realization 
it  l:ut  kn>'v,  me,  I  went  out,  to-day, 

-ual.      Although  I  mn-  ' 

My  beai  -iti-ml  the  porch, 

Chilli-  tini'  :  chnn-h, 

1110  faint, 

with  a  crimson  not  p« 
.  .-x.-  1  at  my  want  of  coi. 

>ul 
•ily  tliat, 

.ill  the  A.M.  in  at, 

A  il.-hin^',  and 
.  to..,  wh.'in-vrr  his  ey« 
>«rn,  vory  plainly  tol.l   m<-,  if  !>•  : 

bfl  kni-w 
/  \voul«l  now,  too, 

M«»  t-i  lx-  Ids  »  i  nl.  now  n  c..i  n  •-[..,  i  i.l.  -nt.       Aii'l  yi't, 

•rl  ili.--i-i-ni»'<l  the  wholo  plot 
:  why 

•iiis  A.M., 

'  ^Iftuonl  Hut  then 


STOLEN  WATERS 

A  Ithongh,  as  I  said  once  before,  in.  his  look 

There  was  consciousness  plain,  even  that  I  could  brock", 

As  long  as  no  triumph  blent  with  it.     And  I 

Mast  acknowledge  I  could  not,  indeed,  should  I  try, 

f  jke  the  slightest  offence  at  his  actions,  or  feel 

That  any  desire  I  need  have  to  conceal 

My  identity  longer  from  him.     For  if  pleased 

And  conscious  he  looked,  and  convinced,  yet,  at  least, 

There  was  nothing  but  sweetness  expressed  in  his  face— 

And  of  triumph  or  sarcasm  never  a  trace. 

This  was  last  night's  "event,"  and  was  also  a  part 
Of  to-day's  "  observation,"  which  rendered  my  heart 
And  thoughts  much  more  troubled  than  ever  before. 
"  Never  singly  misfortunes  do  come."     I  was  more 
Annoyed  at  his  guessing  than  I  have  expressed, 
And  ere  I  to  that  became  reconciled,  pressed 
On  my  heart  was  another  and  fur  deeper  cause 
For  trouble,  vexation,  regret !     And  this  was — 
But  first,  I  must  go  back  a  very  short  time, 
To  a  trifling  occurrence,  which  made  on  my  mind 
At  the  moment  no  sort  of  impression,  I  think, 
And  yet,  has,  it  seems,  proved  to  be  the  first  link 
In  the  chain  of  events  which  first  made  me  suspec; 
What  now  I  am  sure  of.     I  don't  recollect 
Exactly  how  long,  but  a  few  weeks  ago, 
My  Sabbath-school  teacher  was  absent,  and  so& 
With  exception  of  one  or  two,  all  of  the  class, 
^nd  the  superintendent  to  mo  came  to  ask 
If  I  would  a  class  please  to  teach  for  the  session? 
He'd  take  no  refusal,  so  I  took  possession 


sro/./:.Y  WATERS. 

Of  a  small  T:'r.v   Wl'r''  la*l!<> 

nk,  of  ai' 

In  marking  t  :'<  iu  their  names — 

names  ^ 

sixuie 

hat, 

.  Ircl,  ill    t' 

<  agreeing 
f  tho  others 

-  i 

•      i.u   : 
same 
i ve  seen  many  tinnt 

•  be 

'  l(v, 

, 

ilret,  as  the  K 

•irw 
I  oould  not  u 

^u-nrM  a  ••!!<•  La  old 


STOLEN   WATERS.  73 

ifoough  to  have  been  some  years  married ;  but  then 
One  never  can  judge  of  the  age  of  such  men 
%  :>  he  is.     To  look  at  his  face,  one  wotiM  say 
i1  was  one  that  would  never  grow  old,  and  to-day 
!  fe  might  be  twenty -five,  and  from  there  all  the  -vej 
ID  forty,  or  forty-five,  even.     Beside 
Ah  this,  too,  although  to  the  same  church  have  I 
Every  Sabbath  been,  nearly  a  whole  year  or  more, 
1  Bavc  never  seen  with  him,  not  either  before 
Or  after  the  service,  one  lady.     And  so 
'Tis  no  wonder  I  doubted  Lis  marriage,  I  know, 

I  was  early  this  morn,  ami  I  reached  there  before 
My  Antony  did ;  but  the  ve;siii.mlo  door 
By  some  chance  was  left  open ;  and  when  he  came  in 
The  boy  I  have  spoken  about  was  with  him. 
The  door  being  directly  in  front,  too,  of  me, 
Of  course  when  they  entered,  I  could  not  but  see 
Them  both  very  plainly.     Alike,  much,  forsooth, 
Iu  form,  not  in  face,  were  those  two,  man  and  youth, 
At.  my  first  glance  at  them,  the  entire  bitter  truth 
Flashed  over  my  mind  in  a  trice.     This  and  that 
Put  together  had  quickly  resolved  into  fact 
What  I'd  given  no  thought  to  before.     I  then  knew 
Haw  thoroughly  blind  I'd  been  all  the  way  through. 

You  must  know,  my  dear  Journal,  the  sermon  to-da* 
May  have  been  Greek  or  Hebrew,  for  all  I  can  say — 
That  not  much  of  it  entered  my  mind.     Howe'er  well 
It  may  have  been  written  or  rendered,  it  fell 
In  my  case  on  unheeding  ears.     Take  all  that, 
With  the  just  acquired  knov.-li dge.  (hat  he  was  in  fact 


79  STOLEN   WATERS. 

At  length  satisfied  who  was  his  Hitter-Sweet ; 

And  not  t  \vithia  a 

He  was  silt  handsome  face,  tender  and  graid, 

i  to  me,  som>  t iiu'--i  bout  on  his  hand, 
hi  a  reverie  sweet  and  profound.     And  I  could 

Not  have  doubted  <-f  whom  lie  then  thought,  if  I  would 

i  ate  eye 

1  sought  my  own.     ]>.>  \ou  wonder  that  I, 

failed  in  o>nt  rolling  my  heart, 

••  l»U)od  start 
Through  tin-   swift  owning  valve.s  ami   pulxite   through   ittj 

1  thriliin:  :s,  'till  brain 

«  ith  pain, 
in  a  tuniul:  which  it  would  bo  vain 

is  glad  to  reach  home, 

Ami  ..'   i  .  -. -If  in  my  xim-tuni  alone. 

,:ig  I  di.l  \\u-st..  ..it  il.\sa  and  writ* 
ii-.l,-  I   h.i.l  lVi.ni  him  last   night. 
1  my  lx-s(  tu  (1 

Well, 

did  not  know 
Mo  at  ul;  •  hough, 

bortljj  I  fear — 
'  i.s  clear — 

.••  hlumhl  1  know 

in  blue  eyes  be 
And  presumed  there  were  many  a  pair,  too,  that  looked 

«:n  he  sang  ;  but  that  if  ,,u  hi.,  hook 
1-hwed  as  they  Hh  ...tbeawmre 

How  many  l«M>k«-d  i.kt  d  him  riyht  tberft, 


STOLEN  WATERS.  78 

To  make  some  amends  for  my  crossness,  you  see, 

And  also  to  see  what  he'd  answer — if  he 

Could  a  place  for  a  meeting  appoint,  if  a  time 

]  should  mention.     And  as  to  that  hair  ring  of  mine, 

]  uaid  he  should  see  it,  half  promised  also 

He  should  help  me  the  pattern  select.     He  will  know 

It  is  all  idle  words,  I  presume.     And  I  then 

Asked  saucily  what  he  had  read  this  A.M. 

Now  I  wanted  to  introduce,  too,  in  some  way, 

The  discovery  which  I  this  morning  had  made, 

Ascertaining  thus  if  my  suspicions  were  true 

In  regard  to  it.     And,  though  I  pretty  well  knew 

He  would  tell  me  the  truth  if  I  asked  him  outright, 

Yet  I  did  not  know  but  it  possibly  might 

Be  best  to  assume  that  I  already  know 

What  indeed  I  am  hardly  assured  of.     And  »o 

As  follows  I  wrote  : 

"  Do  you  think  it  would  be 
Safe,  entirely — a  meeting  between  you  and  me  ? 
Or  am  I  mistaken  in  thinking  that  you 
Are  a  *  Benedict '  Antony?     Please  tell  me  true. 
But  I'm  certain  I'm  not — think  I  know,  too,  by  sight 
Your  wife  and  your  boy — and  I'm  sure  I  am  right. 
Does  she  know  of  our  correspondence  ?     To-day 
I  fancied  a  little  she  did.     Does  she  ?     Say  !  " 

J  don't  recollect  what  besides  this  I  wrote ; 
Nothing  more,  I  presume,  that  is  worthy  of  note. 
What  a  day  this  lias  been!     Looking  back  now  it  seem* 
Like  a  long,  ever-changing,  a  vague,  troubled  dream. 
And  my  mind  is  yet  quite  too  confused  to  resolve, 
Into  aught  that's  like  order,  the  thoughts  that  revolve, 
4 


74 

•hit 

.  Taint 

Sense  of  feel  in:  sent 

My  :  1  went 

-aw  him, 

weeks  ago.     Anil  thru,  too, 

!!n-nt  runs  tliruugk 

;iml  and  my  ; 

• 

replied 

1  i  o  are  few 

•sod  certji  "W 

•to 
iote; 

nt 
.ill  alone 

i    I    llllisi    .,*B 

HO  rlnowln-ro  1  <-<m. 

I  fra» 
i  in  IKH! 
aid  re* t  for  a  4cl. 


STOLEN  WATERS.  74 

December  9th,  1863. 

WEDNESDAY. 

4 

Good  evening,  my  Journal !  I  come  here  onta  more 
To  my  sanctum,  with  drawn  shades  and  tightly  closed  doots 
And  bright  light,  and  warm  fire,  with  the  table  before. 
With  drawings,  and  papers,  and  books  littered  o'er; 
And  I'll  draw  up  my  chair,  and  will  snugly  ensconce 
Myself  in  its  depths,  and  forget  for  the  nonce 
All  the  cold  world  without ;  will  forget  all  but  you, 
My  dear  Journal,  my  trusty  friend,  confidante,  too, 
All  but  you,  and  the  one  I  am  writing  of  here — 
And  events  of  the  last  day  or  two. 

First,  my  dear, 

You  must  know  that  my  cousin  and  I  yesterday 
Went  a  visit  to  pay,  and  one  which,  by  the  way, 
Has  been  promised  for  long.     'Twas  to  Jersey  we  went 
To  spend  the  whole  day,  although  with  the  intent 
Of  coming  back  home  before  night.     We'd  a  gay, 
Pleasant  time.     Left  for  home  rather  late,  on  the  \\ay 
Passed  my  Antony's  store,  and  saw  he  was  not  in, 
And  we  did  not  enter.     Well !  I  had  not  been 
At  home  very  long  ere  some  young  people  called 
From  over  the  way,  aad  were  here  nearly  all 
Of  the  rest  of  the  eve. 

Lorette  came  home  with  ma, 
Stayed  all  night,  and  to-day  I  went  over  to  B, 
With  her  for  my  letter.     I  felt  rather  more 
Impatient  to  have  it  than  ever  before, 


76  STOLEN  WATERS. 

As  a  matter  of  course.     I  have  more  than  a  few 
Correspondents,  both  ladies  and  gentlemen,  too ; 

somehow,  I  think  that  no  letters  I  ever 
Fiom  others  received  could  afford  half  the  pleasure 
Tliat  hit  have;  I'm  sure,  though  I  cannot  tell  why. 

' 'oloncl's  are  quite  as  well  written,  and  I 
No  reason  can  see  why  his  should  be  so  much 

'tis  the  touch 

.uigenes-s  hirf,  and  mystery,  too, 

.•ivcs  tin-in  thi'ir  charm. 

It  has  been,  it  is  true 

! in  nigh, 

To  receive  all  the.se  i  1  ku<>\v  i  -urce 

came  from,  whil<;  en-tain  that  In-  knew,  of  course, 
!.      An  1  then  church  to  attend, 
nd  then 

Be  si.  be  could  i.  ret  much  he 

•>\v  who  his  unknown  friend  iaig\.t  bn 

!  tin-  face 
.1,  h  in  1.  place, 

M  not  sel> 
us  in  ull  h  ;.««t, 

itbin 
1  and  dim. 

•i 

him, 
s  rapid! . 
.'  Ill"  tin-  un\i  ply 

lestions  contained 
WiUuniL 

To  ft*  «1  one  moct  carcleaanoM  feign 


STOLEN  WATRBB.  77 

Wheu  burning  with  restless  impatience  within, 

May  be,  veiy  possibly,  good  discipline 

For  the  heart  and  the  soul,  but  makes  sad  work  with  tf  mjw? 

And  nerves  I  am  certain.     At  least  I  may  venture 

To  say  'tis  with  me  thus  ;  suspense  I  cannot 

And  never  could  calmly  endure ;  and  then,  what 

Perhaps  made  me  more  anxious  than  ever  to  get 

His  letter  to-day,  was,  the  tinge  of  regret 

That  must  linger  around  all  our  intercourse,  past 

Or  to  come.     That  must  break  all  the  bonds,  first  or  last, 

That  now  bind  us  together ;  and  make  us  again 

What  in  fact  we  are  yet,  and  we  still  must  remain — 

Strangers,  now  and  forever.     It  had,  too,  one  more 

Charm — his  letter  expected — than  any  before 

Have  possessed.     The  one,  too,  that  all  daughters  of  Eve, 

Who  the  dangerous  charm  have  desired  to  receive, 

Have  found,  to  their  cost,  its  possession  replete 

With  anguish  and  pain.     "  Stolen  waters  are  sweet" 

(Hitter-Sweety  it  should  have  been),  and  those  who  would 

drink 

Of  the  bitter-sweet  potion  ought  never  to  shrink 
From  the  taste  of  the  dregs  they  are  certain  to  find 
'Neath  the  sparkle  and  foam. 

We  left  home  about  nin«, 
And  when  Brooklyn  we   reached  found   the   Ca*^«'er    hue 

been 

But  a  moment  before,  and  a  letter  from  him 
Lay  on  the  hall-table  awaiting  B.  S. 
I  was  not  very  sorry  to  find  it,  I  guess, 
And  'twas  opened  an  d  contents  perused  in  a  trice. 
Twas  not  rery  long,  and  not  nearly  as  nice 


78  STOLEN  WATERS. 

ie  last  one,  I  think  ;  lut  of  course  he'd  not  write 
With  as  much  wjinnth  and  pleasantness  quite,  as  he  might 
If  I  had  not  written  so  in  mine. 

. •>  only  nr.  <\  fault  with,  this  time. 

Twaa  written,  indeed,  v.-ith  no  little  discree 
And  j  •  in  thus:  "  Antonian  Sweetness!" 

And  \  mmencing  he  wrote — 

"  The  pair  of  '  blue  eyes  '  of  which  lately  I  spoke 
I  have  met  very  often  upturned  to  my  own, 
But  more  summers  tli.in  nineteen  o'er  tliat  head  lias  down, 

I  iit  ihe  tiiii.-  w.i>  ._'.      Did  not 

Bead  at  all  Sabliath  i!i»m;   wii'u  my  o\\n  pleasant  thought* 
I  communed.     I'm;  'm  to  see 

The  ring  when  you  p  t  it  !     Y  not  let  me 

And  then  farther  on: 
•  that  my  not  wholly  gone, 

But  must  say    i  'certainly."1      And  again: 

hall  reuli/i-  all  the  sweet  strains 
Of  po.-ji-y  sent,  I  can  then  tnlk  much  more 
I  can  with  case  write  before. 

'  me 

!      How  could  you  be, 
Jit,  as  you  said  ? 
v,  as  yet, 

hing  about  this  co:  Then  says, 

'>u  shall  a  time  ajipoint,  I  «  an  a  place.** 

uld  sent 

;         '(  tliink  ho  meant 
;  'twas  i.  ;ust  what 

A  gen tl  -man  should  to  a  la.;  .      tho\ight 


STOLEN  WATERS.  7S 

[  would  write  a  rebuke  in  my  answer.     He'll  not 

Bend  me  any  more  like  it,  I  think.     But  I  ought, 

As  I  wrote  him,  perhaps  have  expected  naught  better  *, 

But  I  did,  and  I  told  him  that,  too,  in  my  letter. 

Twiin  of  course,  standard,  quite",  and  I  doubt  not  (.hat  he 

Never  thought  of  offending,  by  sending  to  me. 

My  rebuke,  though  decided,  was  gentle,  I  hope. 

At  the  end  of  the  poem  he  copied  he  wrote, 

"  No  farther  deponent  doth  say,  at  the  present. 

But  like  most  of  our  popular  stories — and  pleasant 

Some  think,  I  suppose,  as  so  many  read  them — 

This  is  also  '  continued '  to  be  !"     But  yet,  send 

The  rest  think  he  will  not.     Then  writes  at  the  close, 

"  I  shall  go  the  next  Sabbath  to  church,  I  suppose, 

And  there  in  my  '  corner  '  shall  think,  think  of  one 

Who  is  as  far  from  me,  because  yet  unknown, 

As  the  centre  is  from  the  circumf 'rence — my  own  1" 

Then  in  closing  he  says, 

"  I  suppose  you  will  get 
This  to-morrow,  and  then  I  shall  also  expect 
To  hear  from  B.  S.  again  one  of  these  fine 
Days !  And  so  keep  thy  counsel  and  1  shall  keep  mine; 
That  is  '  entre-nous.' 

"  Ever  thine, 

"  « Antony.' " 

I  remained  all  the  rest  of  the  day  o'er  to  B., 
And  answered  his  letter  before  I  came  home. 
I  can't  give  a  copy,  because  I  kept  none, 
But  my  note  was  more  pleasing  than  was  the  last  one. 
I.  said  I  was  sure  that  I  knew  who  he  thought 
His  Bitter-S^TPTt  ras      /l»an  T  -next  asked  him  what 


OS 

Wua  the  style  uf  h.-r  hat,  how  she  woto  her  Lair  dressed, 

hy  In-  ha. I  chosen  one  out  <>; 
Who  was  more  than  nineteen,  when  I  told  hitu  tafore 

•  was  my  ago,  just  nineteen  and  no  more, 
•is  follows  I  wrote  ; 

"  I  tluniyht  you  did  not  read 
much  tin-  laM  S.il.l.ath  ;  Kut  did  there,  indeed, 
Any  bitter  compete  with  tin:  *ir«-t  in  your  thoughts? 

:th  unalloyed  duleitude  fraught?" 
1  to  what  he-  had  said  of  the  ring, 

"  I  tin  re.  do  anything 
But  meet  you,  my  Antony !     I  am  not  quite 

So  foolish,  I  think,  if  I  jud^e  mys.-lf  right, 
As  to  place  m  entire  ; 

if  1  shall  inquire 

Wh«  :  iall  mention  the  time, 

.  we  will  '  think  of  it/  Antony  in 

•i.  my  d-'ar  friend 

.••w  who  I  i  y,,u  till  the  end 

.  dlinjj  to 

d  !i-  *;is  o  be 

I    lloj.r.l    ;  Q    niO 

vim  th--  CM*.      This  I 

wrote.     Oh  !  some  leaves— 
Fragrant  leaves  from  m  'ii\nn — I 

;  some  dainty  ulnt<-  ui.!.on  to  tie 

.   I    •!.•  [i  wu- 

Deai  >tn  to  seiu  :id  she  wont, 

1<>  I  wroU?  in  my  I«-M.  r     ••  I  send  you  Homo  leaves, 
And  a  kiss  hid  within  ! " 


STOLEN   -WATERS.  8J 

And  that  was,  I  believe, 
About  all  that  I  wrote,  or  at  least  all  that  I 
Now  remember.     No  comments  must  I,  by  the  by, 
Make  this  evening — it's  getting  so  late,  just  as  ever ; 
The  next  time,  my  Journal  dear,  I  will  endeavor 
To  be  more  entertaining.     But  somehow,  to-night, 
1  task  it  has  been,  and  an  effort  to  write. 


December  13th,  1863. 
SUNDAY. 

The  night  is  so  cold,  and  is  darksome  find  dreary,. 
It  rains,  and  the  wind  seems  to  never  be  weary, 
The  trees  toss  without,  in  the  bleak  wintry  blast 
Their  bare  leafless  branches.     The  chill  wind  sweeps  past 
Just  now  with  a  sigh,  low  and  mournful,  and  then 
With  wild  sobs,  as  of  anguish,  or  deep,  bitter  pain, 
Then  rises  to  moans  and  shrill  shrieks  of  distress, 
Which,  slowly  subsiding,  grow  fitfully  less, 
And  merge  in  low  sigh  ings  once  more.     And  the  rain, 
Chill,  drenching,  and  pitiless,  splashes  the  panes 
And  keeps  on  the  balcony  just  underneath 
A  restless  continual  patter.     The  eve 
Breathes  but  dampness,  discomfort,  and  darkness ;  within 
All  is  cheerfulness,  soft  light,  and  warmth. 

I  have  beou 

Bitting  here  in  my  sanctum  a  little  time  past, 
And  trying  to  think.     But  the  turbulent  blast, 


82  STOIJ'X    WATERS. 

And  'he  s-    nnl  of  the  fa  disjK'llod 

All  tji-  : i ich  were  both  "sweet  and  baneful."     OL 

111 

•a  ;ill  go,  and  •  i  of  the  night, 

And,  rousing  myself,  mik"  an  etlort  to  write 

-  ents  of  tL  •<  that  have  passed 

80  fleetly,  my  Journal,  sinci>  chatting  here  last 
A  few  evenings  ago. 

Well,  last  Friday,  again, 
ik  a  ride  over  to  Brooklyn;  and  when 

I  found  (hat  Lorette  was  alone, 
Id  not  coi.  H-nt  to  my  coming  back  home, 

iiu'd  tin-re  all  day, 

And  wo  did  have  a  niiv,  pleasant  time,  I  must  say. 

••i.-li ! 

;ht  touch 
OfHJircaxii 

'o  those  that  s1  her  won  come  or  woal ; 

•  •  i  iul  and  sweet, 

I"  '  i-o  are  deoj)n 

'v  those 

who  l>r.st  know  her  have  ever  supposed 
•''   h'-art. 

I  nr>ed  not, 

I  PTCM  what 

r  need  I 

AJWUP  :i.      Ind, 

Mud 

•his  time 

And  gave  inn  much  ]<!•  .LMire.     Ml  pve  here  complete 
•y — conn. 

(<  My  own  Bit  tor-Sweet  I 


STOLEN  WATERS.  S3 

"  How  exceedingly  promptly  the  mails  do  arrive, 
And  bring  to  us  letters  most  welcome.     And  I've 
Received  yours  this  morning,  \vith  scented  sweets  fraught — 
[low  fragrant  they  are  !     And  what  wonder  I  thought 
Them  rendered,  indeed;  doubly  so,  since  they've  been 
With  a  pair  of  sweet  lips  in  close  contact.     How,  then, 
Could  I  avoid  having  a  taste  of  them,  too  ? 
And  I  did  so,  in  fancy  at  least,  it  is  true, 
If  not  in  reality,  seeming  to  find 

With  the  leaves  still  some  lingering  sweetness  combined. 
Of  all  the  sweet  plants,  the  geranium,  give  me ! 
Did  I  guess  who  the  blue-eyed  young  lady  might  be  ? 
I  thought  that  I  asked  might  it  be  so  and  so. 
Who  I  thought  that  you  were  do  you  really  know  ? 
Well,  who,  dear  B.  S.  ?     You  remember  you  said 
That  nineteen  bright  summers  had  passed  o'er  your  head, 
But  did  not  say  only,  or  how  many  more. 
I  thought  from  the  fact  of  your  saying  before 
How  much  you  had  seen  of  the  world,  and  then,  that 
An  innocent  intrigue's  your  life — I,  in  fact, 
Supposed  you  some  older.     At  what  age,  indeed, 
Do  young  ladies  commence  on  a  life  of  intrigue  ? 
I  cannot  describe  how  she  dresses  her  hair, 
Or  what  is  the  style  of  the  hat  which  she  wears. 
My  Bitter  Sweet,  how  do  you  think  that  of  these 
Trifling  things  a  poor  fellow  can  think,  when  he  sees 
A  pair  of  soft,  liquid,  blue  eyes  looking  through 
His  very  soul — while  they  appear  to  read,  too, 
ITis  innermost  thoughts  ? 

"  Tho  '  French '  sentence  I  sent 
W  ill  tell  you  I  think  that  there  was  bitter  blent 


84  STOLEN   WATERS 


With  the  gwfft  in  my  thoi:  .d  could  you,  dear  B.  8- 

Read  that  in  my  lace?     For  you  know  you  professed 
To  <i  >u  sent. 

.t  meet  yon  !  '     Well  !  then 
ae  know  who  you  an-.     I  do  not  suppose  you 
So  foolish,  m\  s  to  place  yourself  too 

i)  in  my  JHJWIT,  and  therefore  on  me 
i*m  call,  at  my  own  place  (.f  business,  you  see, 
In  ojK'n  day,  just  as  till  ladies  ma;. 
And  be  free,  too,  from  any  controlling  jxno¥. 

"You 

Mistake  in  supposing  1  did  not  believe 
WJiat  you  wrote  in  the  first  letter  from  you  received. 
Believe  you  I  did  !  but  I  cannot  pass  by 
That  ea-s-  •'•»/«,  which  I 

Am  sure,  '  my  o\v  .11  should  admire 

In  every  JMTSOU  in  \vli(.in  you  tlrs-ire 
Or  choose  to  • 

ill  better  far 

Like  you,  my  den  tow  toAo  you  a  t 

i  will  t--ll  mi-,  I'll  try,  with  run 

• 

ixjtwecn  us;  hut  I  w»uM  much 
The  f  ,  if  fnuii  ., 

A  dixtance. 

'•  I 
>em  oflen  i  yet 

i  Bt   Of  it   V 

,1 

I  will  Ml  yuu  at  .-n,-,-.      \-  \  \  s],all  n,,t  offt-nd 
You  willingly,  ever  ;  and  h<>j>e  to  be  then 


STOLEN   WATERS.  81 

For  all  past  offences  forgiven.     I'm  not 

Perhaps,  my  B.  S.,  quite  so  bad  as  you  thought. 

And  you  do  me  injustice,  too,  I  must  protest, 

In  saying'  you  '  might  have  expected  no  less ! ' 

You  certainly  did  not  expect  it  to  be — 

The  poem — original,  did  you,  with  me  ? 

I  nevei1  have  had  that  opinion  extreme 

Of  women  that  some  profess — as  will  bo  seen 

In  Posthumous  tirade  in  Shakspeare's  {  CymbeJne,' 

And  Dryden's  translation  of  Juvenal's  Satire 

On  woman — an  author  that  many  admire. 

No !  my  '  dtarity '  's  almost  as  vast  in  extent 

As  the  universe ;  neither  would  I  with  intent 

Wound  your  feelings,  believe  me  !     And  so  I  will  keep 

'  To  be  called  for ' — the  poetry — My  Bitter-Sweet, 

Or  to  the  Dead -Letter  Office  wiN  transmit. 

"  Is  it  not  bitter  cold  to-day  ?     How  sweet  to  sit 
Beside  a  good  fire,  listing  to  the  chill  wind 
As  it  whistles  without.     I  will  not  at  this  time 
Inflict  on  you  any  words  further  of  mine. 
With  one  good  inhalation  from  yowr  fragrant  leaves. 
Until  the  next  time  I  trust  you  will  believe 
I  am  still 

"  Your  own 

"  Antony ! 

"To  Bitter  Sweet." 

That  was  all !  and  I  certainly  need  not  repeat 
What  I  said  once  before :  that  not  one  I've  receive  i 
LEas  more  pleasure  afforded  than  this.     I  believe 
There  have  been  not  a  great  many  moments  to-day 
fhat  he  has  been  out  of  my  thoughts. 

I  must  say 


M  STOLEN  WATERS. 

I  am  pleased  at  the  way  he  received  my  reproof, 

And  pt:rh;ij>s  I  (//•/  do  him  injustice.      In  truth, 

,'•;  measure  ono  virtue  most  rare 
In  this  weak  sinful  world,  if  all  olse  that  is  fair    ' 
Ami  n-i.nl,  In-  is  wanting  in.     Sweet  Charity, 

:.o  evil  doth  think!      Of  the  fair,  divine  three, 
Fbe  rarest  and  greatest  . 

>t  such  a  very  bad  boy, 

rail!     And  *•>  th:it  :if;  n  ployed, 

A  part  of  i 

And   I  in.:  inird  home.      But  it  is 

In)|H>s  •   I  should  now 

>t<-  in  p  : 

ia  some  hopes  of  receiving  next  time 

M.   i 

made  uj>  my  mind 
If  I'll  in  •  :  him  or  , 

I  think  that  I  aliall -   well  !    I  Inidly  know  what 
!  have  not  at  any  :  :|,t 

that    I  Q 
we  led  him  to  thii  me  discloac 

11  knowt 
now,  were  it  i  .go. 

•    '.      1 
inchow  one  thing  .. 

r  have  Siiid, 
i'-ant  to  fulfil, 

than  I  1:1, -.11.  ,.      still, 

It  teemn  1.  l,iD1) 

••'H  certainly  been 
kii  d  ui  il  n. ., •••  -  neroiu&ll  the  way  thrctgh, 


STOLEN  WATERS.  87 

And  2  want  to  be  quite  as  hon'rable,  too, 

So  I  really  scarcely  know  what  I  will  do. 

And  then,  there  is  still  one  more  motive,  more  strong, 

Perhaps,  than  all  others,  which  I  have  been  long 

Only  half-conscious  of  in  my  innermost  soul, 

But  which,  nevertheless,  has  through  nearly  the  whole 

Of  our  correspondence  so  long,  been  the  power 

By  which  I've  been  led  day  by  day,  hour  by  hour, 

'Till  I  am  where  I  am.     And  that  strong  motive  is 

A  desire  just  for  once  to  place  my  hand  in  his, 

To  listen  just  once  to  his  soft,  tender  tones, 

In  kind  words  intended  for  my  ear  alone. 

Just  for  once,  possibly,  to  be  clasped  to  his  breast, 

"  With  a  feeling  of  shelter  and  infinite  rest  1 " 

Only  just  for  a  moment ! — Is  it  very  wrong  ? 

'Twould  be  something  to  think  of  throxigh  all  my  life  long. 

'Twould  be,  I  suppose,  hungry  heart  satisfied 

With  sweet  fruit  from  the  tree  that's  forbidden,  supplied  ; 

Raging  thirst  quenched  by  sweet  "  stolen  waters"  whick 

flow 

From  a  fountain  that  hides  depths  most  bitter  below. 
Oh !  one  other  thing  I  remember  I  wrote — 
That  is,  in  the  answer  I  sent  to  his  note — 
And  that  was  to  try  the  next  Sabbath  and  see 
If  he  could  not  discover  who  B.  S.  might  be. 
I  brought  from  Lorette's  some  geranium  leaves 
To  carry  to  church  to-day,  morning  or  eve, 
Intending  to  lot  him  observe  thorn,  while  I 
Should  note  the  efiect  in  his  face.     By  the  by, 
f  believe  he  possesses  a  quite  tell-tale  face. 

Well !  this  forenoon  found  me  in  my  usual  place 


STOLEN  WATERS. 

In  church,  ;uid  lu>  »lso  in  his.      [  forgot 

i  >rning  to  curry  my  leaves,  so  did  not, 
(  >f  course,  my  experiment  try.     Mr.  S. 
Announced  this  A.M.  that  by  special  request 
•••  to  the  s.-nnon  repeat 

f.     From  my  Beat 
'1  to  my  Antony's  face 
yes.     At  that  moment  lie  turned  in  his  place 

•TO  at  me.     With  :i  g|;1I1(,.  iu  which  rluio 
-  a  consciousness,  neither,  I  think,  could  restrain, 
•  nt,  thru  each  turned  away. 
So  much  for  this  morning! 

It  mine,!  tho  whole  day, 
|        I  -lid  not  stay  home 

-,  aii.I  f;,th,-r  and    I   wc,,(  alone. 
\ut«.ny  ON 

he  n-nKtiiM'd 
"""•]i«l"  tim,.;    and   I   ra,  ,d  fn,,,,  ,ny  hook 

'-'••'1,  <ho  leave,  to  ray  l,,,s,  and  then  h>,,, 
•'•s  that  were  bent 
I  meant 

"  :.?,  and  tht 

- 


>  ».y  book  to  my  face 
the  sweet  leaves 

•••T.Bum-  vorcame 

that  mom.-!,)  sw,.,,r  jn  my  eyg, 

'"g  glance.     Slight  «.n,r«, 
1  j'1-asure,  expreswsd 
e  *>ft,  luKtro,  •  depths  of  hia  own.     While 


STOLEN  WATERS.  89 

Wore  his  lips,  very  slightly,  iu  efforts  most  vaia 
To  hide  the  emotion,  betrayed  yet  so  plain, 
In  flushed  cheek,  and  dark,  sparkling  eye. 

As  for  me, 

]  was,  I  believe,  so  desirous  to  see 
The  effect  of  my  act  upon  him,  I  did  not 
My  own  agitation  give  one  moment's  thought, 
Or  make;  then,  the  slightest  attempt  to  control 
My  heart  or  my  face.     And  I  ddubt  not  the  whole 
Confirmation  of  all  he  would  know  he  could  read 
In  my  swift-changing  cheek,  tell-tale  eye,  and,  indeed, 
More  than  all,  in  the  sweet  leaves  I  held. 

It  all  passed 

In  a  moment,  and  he  turned  away,  too,  at  last, 
To  his  seat  in  the  "  corner."     And  how  I  would  like 
To  know  what  he  thought,  as,  with  back  to  the  light 
He  waited  the  signal  to  sing. 

Well!  to-night, 

All  during  the  sermon,  he  sat  quite  in  front, 
And  not  in  the  "  corner  "  as  he  has  been  wont. 
But  he  sat  looking  toward  the  preacher,  this  time, 
But  frequently  glancing  from  his  face  to  mine. 
And  during  the  last  prayer  abruptly  he  turned 
And   looked   down   full   at   me.     How   my    foolish    cheek 

burned ! 

'Neath  his  glances  so  earnest,  and  thrilling,  and  sweet  1 
My  eyes  faltered  and  drooped,  quite  unable  to  meet 
The  passion  in  his,  as  with  head  on  his  hand 
He  sat  motionless  quite,  I  thought  looking  more  grand 
And  handsome  than  ever  before.     The  soft  light 
In  his  fine  speaking  eye,  new,  to  me  at  least,  quite 


90  STOLEN   WATERS. 

And  smile  on  his  lips,  both  of  whi  -h  added  much 
-  ever-fine  fact-,  would  have  given  a  touch 
intv  imd  .swrctws-:  to  0  an, 

And  his  iniule  ex<juisit  .tin 

f'j  think  that  he  was  i.  He  knows 

::ou:,'h  now,  1  suppose. 
.  and  see 
it  he'll  write  about  it. 

.  I  some  notes  took  of  the 

Fine  (?)  sermon,  this  evening.  ;«•  to  him  too. 

'  down  and  saw  me  !     Will  that  !>«•  a  due, 

i  he  sees  how  'i  "  In  Church,  Sunday  1 

B  still  to  !>rlieve 

M  v  l.-aves 
in  my  book  at  rhiuvh. 

II 

1H  MB. 

•  ncs,  and  -lark,  and  dn«ry,'; 

i,  so  weary  ! 


1 

My  watch  I  will  plao-  \,-i y  close  to  thr  sjx>t 
Where  my  book  I 


STOLEN  WATERS.  M 

To-day  we  expected  from  Jersey  some  friends, 

But  they  failed  to  appear.     But  Lorette  this  P.M. 

Came  over  and  brought  me  a  letter  again 

From  him,  my  "  own  Antony."     And  I  was  glad 

To  get  it.     But,  somehow,  I  always  am  sad 

After  having  a  letter  from  him.     I  cannot, 

f  am  sure,  give  the  reason  for  it.     My  first  thoughts 

Are  ever  most  pleasant  and  snreet,  I  must  own, 

Though  the  sweet  soon  dies  out,  and  the  bitter  alone 

Remains  of  the  stolen  draught. 

Notes  from  him  I 

Read  again  and  again,  besides  keeping  them  by 
Me  the  whole  time,  each  one,  till  the  next  one  arrives; 
Yet,  though  they  are  all  I  desire,  all  the  time 
My  spirits  are  very  uncertain,  I  find. 
For  instance,  one  day  they're  remarkably  fine 
(Most  often  the  day  that  his  notes  are  received), 
And  the  next  even  indigo  'd  moke,  I  believe, 
A  white  mark  upon  me.     And,  too,  this  state  of  mind. 
Or  temper,  or  heart,  or  whatever,  in  fine, 
It  deserves  to  be  called,  has  been  constantly  mine, 
And  not  only  of  late,  but  through  all  of  the  time 
Very  nearly  of  our  correspondence.     I've  found 
"  The  heart  cannot  always  control,  or  account 
For  the  feelings  which  sway  it."     And  also  must  own 
"  That  I  think,  as  I  swing  on  the  gate  here  alone, 
How  the  sweetness  of  horehound  will  soon  all  die  out, 
While  the  bitter  still  keeps  on  and  on  !  " 

Well,  about 

His  letter,  which  lies  here  this  mom/ut  by  me : 
?irst~ "  Sunday,  December  13th,  '63, 


•2  STOLEN  WATERS. 

In  the  '  conitM y "  was  how  it  was  dated.     I  thought 

•K-O — and  was  it  not? — 

That  he  should  that  morning  have  written  to  me 
'•lurch,  and  th.-n  I,  who  of  course  did  not  see 
Or  drram  of  his  having  done  any  such  thing, 
Should  that  \vry  same  evening  have  written  to  him, 
I  I  also,  in  church.     I  can  give  here  to-night 

racts  alone.     In  out-  place  thus  ho  writes  : 
it  an  unpleasant  day!  yet  it  may  not  be  quite 
So  to  those  who  have  hearts  that  are  careless  and  light 
Where  are  you  Why  do  I  not  see  you  here 

uorning  at  service  as  usual,  my  «i 
•  as  if  he  h.nl  :i  so  well  I  was  there! 

Diss'  iu'ht  where, 

time  i  ii.  ;  1.  and  raised 

.1  his  InKik  <>r  '  mv  f;ioe 

•  ing  his  gaze.) 
'lifii  lit-  \\ i-nt  mi  : 

••  \V<>  sliall  have  once  again 

This  evening  the  Thanksgiving  St-rim m,  my  friend. 
you  nun.  uu.il,   I  Mi|'|»osej 

hen,  if  UK  <!<>  ;  ure  those 

Thereat 

•'  no 

•rtance,  so  l<-t  it  all  go. 
Near  the  end  of  tin-  third  page  he  writes — 

"  Do  not  te+t 

To  come  in  and  MM,- in.-,  f.r  i;  here 

A  lady  moat  certainly  never  need  be 
At  A  loos  tot  OToaaes  for  entering  the 


STOLEN  WATERS.  0 

Public  stores,  and  which  hundreds  habitually 
Are  visiting.     So  there's  no  reason,  you  see, 
My  Bicter-Sweet,  why  you  tan't  call  upon  me. 
No  !  I'm  not  getting  weary,  believe  me  you  will, 
Of  reading  your  letters,  but  look  for  them  still 
With  a  great  deal  of  pleasure,  and  hope  and  expect 
The  favor  to  have  of  receiving  the  next 
With  the  knowledge  of  your  entire  name." 

Then  he  sajs, 

"  Prayer  now  has  commenced  !  I  must  stop,  my  B.  S  , 
You  will  have  difficulty  in  reading,  I  guess, 
This  letter,  and  find  but  a  little,  I  fear, 
To  amuse,  or  instruct,  or  to  benefit  here ; 
But  anticipate  one  from  me,  one  of  these  days, 
Somewhat  better." 

I  think  I've  forgotten  to  say 

This  was  written  in  pencil ;  in  ink,  then,  he  writes  : 
"  Monday. — How  it  does  ruin  !    is  it  not  enough,  quite, 
To  give  one  the  '  blues '  ?  and  the  sermon  last  night 
Might  perhaps  be  the  means  of  assisting  it,  too  ; 
Might  it  not,  my  dear  friend  ?     Or  how  is  it  with  you  ? 
But  I  can  this  morning  do  nothing  but  mope, 
And  writing  is  out  of  the  question.    I  hope 
To  hear  from  you  soon,  and  am 

"  Ever  your  own 

"  Autos  r 
"  To  my  Bitter-Sweet !  " 

I  might  have  known 

He'd  not  say  a  word  in  this  letter  of  what 
lie  saw  Sunday  eve,  though  I  know  he  cannot 
Help  but  be  pretty  sure  who  his  Bitter-Sweet  is. 
But  he  made  a  slight  guess  in  one  letter  of  his, 


94  STOLEN  WATERS. 

And  1  answer.-*  1  ...  thinks  he  will  let 

Mo  tell  him  (ho  whr>le.  I  expect* 

>to  him  ut  twilight  In -fore  Lorette  went, 
Although  rather  liriftly,  hut  with  it  I 
The  i.  n  chunh,  Sunday  eve, 

And  which  1m  to-morrow  forenoon  should  receive. 
Upstairs  I  had  ju-t  come,  I  wrote  him,  to  find 
ilinij  a  moment  of  time 

s  waiting  helow), 

On  the  floor  of  my  sun.  ;hen  sitting  low, 

close  by  the  window,  v  ^  to  write 

s  to  him  liy  i ; 
I  sent  him  the  !i.«  close, 

t'iKl  him  al>'»v<-  In-  wduld  not,  I  supposed 
If  1  tuM  him  my  name,  kn^w  mi-  tln-n  any  lx-r 

re  the  receipt  «.f  my  letter. 
Aa  ho  BID  was  dressed, 

1  (••!!  him  the  rest. 
f   ase  him,  1  a.sk«l  him  when  he 
iow  who  I  am — what  of  me 
\  lao  wroto  thut  to  service  I  v 
i*t  Siibl-  :     nd  sent 

At  the  c-ln.-e  •.]'  to  my  friend. 

^  answer  <  M. 

AM  tin-  \\ 

ui  been  very  kin-l  in<l".-,|,  nlways  to  writ* 
I  requested,  and  s 

My  brother  and  wife  wen?  in  town,  »•  -.KJ, 

To  diBBet  thi*  erening.     Just  twelve  !    I  urn  throofb. 


STOLEN   WATJ2RS. 
December  17 lh,  1863. 

THURSDAY. 

.How  stormy  a  day  1  from  the  earliest  dawr. 
The  clouds  have  bent  low,  swiftly  showering 
The  soft,  fleecy  snow-flakes.     All  naturo  around 
Seems  just  to  have  donned  a  fresh  mantle  of  white, 
So  spotlessly  pure,  and  so  downy  and  light — 
So  dazzlingly  lovely,  this  "  beautiful  snow  " — 
The  air  filling  all,  shrouding  all  things  below, 
With  a  soft-falling  vesture  more  dainty  and  fair 
Than  any  fine  lady  can  e'er  hope  to  wear. 
Yet  this  white,  vestal  raiment,  unsullied  by  aught 
Unlovely  or  tainting — oh,  what  a  sud  thought ! 
This  snow  that's  "  so  pure  when  it  falls  from  the  sky, 
Must  be  trampled,  in  mud  by  the  crowd  rushing  by, 
Must  be  trampled  and  tracked  by  the  thousands  of  fvfl 
'Till  it  blends  with  the  filth  in  the  horrible  street." 

This  day  has  been  one  of  sensations,  to  me 
Rather  new  and  pecul  iar ;  have  half  seemed  to  be 
In  a  sweet,  happy  dream  all  day  long.     I  presume 
My  spirits  will  be  at  their  lowest  ebb  soon, 
Quite  likely  to-morrow.     There  always  must  be 
With  them  a  reaction  ;  and  one  day  to  me 
Of  light-hearted  joyousness,  pleasure,  and  glee, 
Is  sure  to  result  in  depression  and  gloom ; 
And  this  no  exception  will  be,  T  presume. 
By  halves  I  do  nothing;  and  when  I  am  g»jr 
No  one  can  be  livelier ;  and,  T  must  say, 


W  >LI-:.\    WATERS. 

That  when  could  be 

In  the  depths  of  despoil 

And  it  takes  such  a  slight,  such  a  small,  trifling  thin* 

To  muk*   inr  unhappy,  on  one  Land,  or  bring 

A  wnile  to  my  lips,  aud  a  li.  y  eye— 

Toy  and  glee  to  my  hcait. 

liapj'V  wiis   I 
nal  cl.-ar 
And  well-known  liamlwritini;  <>f  Antony  dear 

was  addressed  whirK  v.  ,1  to  mo, 

;••  iii  d  to  see 

.i  — 

over  his  form 
d      h"  looked  almost  like 

.  unusual  deli 

I  ran  .  ..-»•  with  i 

To  PCa«l,  nil  al«  i     . 

too! 

And  ! 

t  .'.;•    in  sus{>euK 

~  ii<  less; 

''•«•; 
list  say, 
day 

••  wrote 

A  li  ; 


^  idrcss  also  with  it, 

A  ud  *h  i.  ,;h." 


STOLEN  WATERS.  97 

That  is  all  that  he  says  about  that.     Next  replies 
To  some  trifling  inquiries  I  made,  and  then  writes 
Shortly : 

"  How  can  I  tell,  think  you,  when  I  exj>«c4 
To  know  you  ?     To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  suspect 
That  I  never  shall  know  you  at  all,  as  I  do 
Not  have  any  means  to  find  out,  and  as  you 
Do  not  choose  to  inform  me.     And  then,  as  to  what 
I  think  of  you — think  that  you  wish — do  you  not? 
To  have  some  amusement,  occasionally, 
By  a  few  letters  writing,  perhaps  just  to  see 
What  answers  there  may  be  returned.     Possibly, 
That  unsatisfactory  oft  they  may  be ; 
But  you  must  remember  that  I  am  still  quite 
In  the  dark,  as  to  knowing  to  whom  I  now  write. 
To-day  I  am  feeling  especially  blue, 
But  the  reason  for  it  cannot  give ;  and  can  you  ? 
I  am  pleased  to  find  you  are  so  punctual  in  your 
Attendance  at  church,  my  B.  S.,  I  am  sure  ! 
But  where  do  you  sit,  and  what  mean  you  to  wear 
The  next  Sabbath  morning  if  you  should  be  there  ? 
I  hope  that  you  had  an  agreeable  seat 
On  the  floor  of  your  '  sanctum,'  my  own  Bitter-Sweet, 
When  writing  to  me.     How  would  you,  at  the  time, 
Have  liked  some  one  to  lean  on  ?  and  did  you  then  find 
The   pattern  you   sought?    Guess  your  friends  must  hf.v« 

thought 

It  took  you  a  long  time  inderd.  did  they  not.  ?  " 
And  then  right  after  this  quite  abruptly  he  writes : 
"  *  And  tJtese  are  tl»e  questions  I  ask  day  aud  night, 
Must  my  soul  never  once  taste  such  exqvi«i*c  delight  ? '  * 
5 


98  '/ML 

Then  «  H  iiulo'd 

i  bestow 

•  T-wnt.-r,  us  those 

ned 
saed 

Tlur  ;,iin 

ihin^,  . -in  </,</./,<•;/•,'.      Ami  then  says  in  clow 

liiii-^  ilo 
r  »\    inlli.  i  IIIL:  on  \  <  'ii 

II, 
i  Sweet, 

Of 


1  \\vro  two  neat 

i  within  the  small   plain  space  of  i» 
Wa-s        ' 

t  wrote 

note. 
• 


'!'••  «1   I'«l 

'luulil  (ell    hi  ji  of  \\hat 

!-ooome  R»  I  v-.-ll  i 

i  .!-. 

\vrito 
•uf  right  , 


STOLEN   WATERS.  99 

Or  write  him  110  more.     But  they've  now  come  to  be — 

His  letters--  -almost  necessary  to  me. 

At  least  I  should  miss  them,  oh !  so  very  much, 

If  I  ceased  to  receive  tkem.     And  therefore,  with  such 

A  feeling  or  thought  uppermost  in  my  mind, 

When  to  write  I  began,  is  it,  dear  Journal  mine, 

Any  wonder  that  all  scruples  were  for  the  time 

Swept  completely  aside,  as  with  fond,  eager  hand, 

I  raised  to  my  lips  the  forbidden  draught,  and, 

While  quaffing  the  waters  so  sweet  at  the  brim 

Of  the  cup,  quite  forgot  that  far  down,  deep  within 

The  dregs,  I  a  bitter  might  find  to  be  more 

Intense  than  in  any  glass  I  had  before 

Attempted  to  drain ? 

So  my  Journal,  you  see, 
In  the  letter  which  lies  on  tire  table  by  me, 
"  Signed,  sealed,"  not  "  delivered,"  my  dear  friend  wi'.i  find 
His  suspicions  confirmed,  and  at  last  have  his  mind 
From  all  farther  doubt  and  uncertainty  free. 
How  many  a  thought  sent  to  me  there  will  be 
Between  the  receipt  of  this  note  and  the  time 
For  service  on  Sunday  forenoon.     As  to  mine — 
Oh  !  my  thoughts  are  constantly  with  him,  to-day, 
And  all  other  days,  iu  fact,  now  and  ahvay. 
And  I'm  more  impatient,  too,  than  I  can  tell 
For  next  Sabbath  morning's  arrival. 

Oh,  well— 

The  clock's  striking  !  hark  !   can  it  be  it  is  twelve  ? 
A  few  words  of  my  letter,  and  then  I  am  through. 
1  wrote  at  some  length,  and  quite  charmingly,  *<x», 
£  llutter  myself !  or  I  certainly  meant 
It  should  be  quito  as  pleasing  a^  any  I'd  sent. 


100 

1  told  him  that  I  nail  conun<  '  for  fuu,r 

This,  our  correspomloneo,  N  •  begun 

That  IM  had  no  intentions,  in  fact,  any  time, 

Notwithstandiii  ions  jn-oin 

To  allow  him  to  li.iv.>  any  KIM  'v;  ••Igo  of  me 

He  had  not  already  ;  that  is.  unl< 

•rtain  vir,  his  K  £>.  might  be. 

<  k'ht  hanlly  fair  woul-1  it  l> ••,  llioii^h,  to  him, 
To  treat  him  i 
V«ry  kin.l.  an  1  cjuit-?  h  ID  ;ir.>u_;ii; 

o  to  his  !  too. 

•i  I  toU  h 

'niiiiLT.  mid  ;i  •  here 

' 

,  h.  I.      Tluru  n;iid- 

!1,   l)Vlt     1 

-o  will  )i<  i  he  by, 

I  wr.itc  i  :loor 

an  easy  seat,  when  I  before 

'««  to  liitn;   but  1  .  .      iml<-".l  ^n-atly  liked 

To  had  *•  line  on*  to  I<MU  ii[»>u  ;  but,  if  it  ii: 

!     'ire 

To  lean  for  HUJ-: 
No  oocaaion  would  lx'<  i 

Oh,  dear ! 

I'm  so  very  fatigued  I  i  tnd  here, 

.'•ave  all  the  r««Mt  u  i.iy  night, 

>H  1  may  have  Hoiuf  inaut  to  write. 


STOLEN    WATERS.  101 

December  20<A,  1863. 

SUNDAY. 

Sabbath  evening  once  more,  and  it's  now  half  j  <*st  ten. 
I've  been  sitting  right  here  for  an  hour,  with  my  pen 
In  my  hand,  and  my  journal  wide  open,  upon 
The  table  before  me,  the  day  that's  just  gone 
Reviewing,  and  trying  to  bring  into  form 
Its  events  and  emotions,  in  order  to  write 
With  coherent  distinctness  of  them  here  to-night — 
Of  a  day  that  has  been  one  long  dream  of  delight— 
This  Sabbath,  the  twentieth  day  of  December, 
Eighteen  sixty-three ! 

But  the  fast-paling  embers 

In  the  grate  are  now  giving  me  warning,  indeed, 
My  writing  to  do  with  all  possible  speed, 
Or  be  left  in  the  cold.     And  so  I  will  proceed. 

When  I  wrote  here  last  Thursday,  I  spoke  of  the  storia 
Which  was  raging  without,  and  the  next  (Friday)  mom 
It  had  not  much  abated  ;  but,  turning  to  rain, 
Made  horrible  travelling.     I  waited  in  vain, 
Almost  the  whole  day,  for  a  plcasanter  state 
Of  weather  and  walking,  until  'twas  so  late 
I  feared  that  if  I  should  much  longer  delay, 
That  he  would  not  my  letter  receive  yesterday. 
So  with  rubbers  and  water-proof  nicely  equipped, 
Regardless  of  rain  or  of  slush,  on  my  trip 
A  few  blocks  farther  down  at  length  started  to  insil 
My  la-jt  letter  to  him,  that  he  might  "»ithout  fail 


I":-'  STOLE \    H.l/V. 

.  M.     And  us  there 

B.  where 

I  h.i  . 

"iglu  that  to  it  1  woul.l  trust  just  Olirr  nn»n-. 
:u  ;i  iiioiii.  .  •          1 

<1     t    >    |MU 

•;<1  his  in;u  n.  r   1 

'  i.-r  l>y  h;iir.  :iinl  1  ..  >,  shrink 

!  .  ot  \\i>  hand,  «»r  the  Blanco  of  lii> 

An  1  J  •  luit    I   c;iiiii"t   tfll  I 

i  !i  liiiu.  ili-1,  though. 

!••  h-'Kl  liiiiit-  s'>  1-  iirw    it   :i 

as  :,<)(. u 
i  he  thinks,  I  piv.suinc, 

.  .  i-  •  I        •    t  hi 

I  .t-imii, 

. 

: 

:  llliallt  Ulld  full 

l>th  of  snow, 

. 
. 

,.i  i'i.il  lu.   . 
:nptiii'4lv  roae. 

be  H»VU  in  tin-  wli.  :  •  I,IUK 

.  i.  -h  this  A.M., 

went  alao,  and  whm 


STOLEN   WATERS.  103 

From  the  rack  slio  had  taken  a  hymn-book,  I  then 

Disco1  ered  what  I  had  not  noticed  before — 

A.nd  trien  not  until  she  was  looking  it  o'er — 

A.  small  piece  of  paper  inserted  between 

The  leaves  of  the  book.     In  a  moment,  I  ween, 

It  flashed  o'er  my  mind  what  it  was  ;  and  I  knew 

Very  well  that  my  Antony  placed  it  there.     Drew 

It  forth,  and  I  found  my  suspicions  confirmed, 

For  on  one  side  I  read  "  Hitter-  Sweet"  and  then  turned 

And  the  same  on  the  other  side  found  written,  too, 

Placed  there  at  rehearsal  last  eve,  I  conclude. 

I  think  'twas  indeed  scarcely  marked  by  (Jertrudi.  : 

At  least  she  said  nothing  about  it. 

I  placed 

The  paper  at  once  in  my  nuilF,  at  his  face 
Glancing  up,  and  he,  too,  was  then  looking  at  me, 
But  at  once  turned  away,  so  I  know  not  if  he 
Had  noticed  my  finding  the  paper  or  not. 
He  sat  at  the  front  to-day,  just  as  I  thought 
And  expected  he'd  do — both  this  morning  and  eve. 
But  my  pen  can  but  fail  to  describe,  I  believe, 
What  I  then  saw  and  felt  if  I  make  the  attempt, 
1  think  1  must  own  that  I  did  not  repent, 
Or  do  now,  in  the  slightest  degree,  having  sent 
lu  my  last  the  desired  information,  which  must 
Have  been  most  gratifying  to  him  ;  and  I  trust 
As  much  pleasure  gave  him  as  I  thought  that  it  might 
To  hope  gave  reality,  putting  to  flight 
All  doubt  and  suspicion. 

He  did  r.ot  sit  quite 
\  t.  the  front  of  the  choir  eithev  morning  or  night, 


But  sitting  just  BO  he  could  look  down  at  me, 
With  his  face  half  in  si.  1  half  in  H.u'ht,  hr 

&at  li-ain-d  slightly  forward,  I  in  his  hand, 

be  pillar  so  grand 

li  was  close  by  his  seat;  his  eye  seeking  my  owi 
ii  a  glance  from  which  all  of  the  bitter  had  flown, 
And  only  the  sweetness  remained.      And.  ind 
l"iik  volt;  ;   in  his  face  I  could  read 

•h  and  int. 'us  :i  J  ne'er, 

In  my  litV,  in  aimthrr  fan-  s;iw.      And  \\  IK  : 

i  to  l<».ik  in  his  tine  sj»rakin_' 
So  dark,  dri-j>,  and   lu>:  mus  v.  itli  trnili-nirss.  my 

Seemi  .  \vhil.-  tin-  .',_-ii  it  a  host 

ssed, 
Till  •••  'ncutli  his  glances  at  la»v 

.lidly  rai.-' 

trage  to  meet  the  *oi  :ht  whidi  li«-:im.,i 

inly  in  liis  ;  and  shoiu-  over  his 
s  trace, 

iidf,  tOO, 

•4  passion  whidi  ti 
Itii  eh  rao  as  well,  'till  in  my  (,\VM 

•  I'turo  and  nv.  thrilled 

1"!  had  I  willed, 
us  too  new,  HI 

A  ahii  >|i|)inc.vs  min-li 

To  cause  me  a  roes, 

• 

'<       jllatfrd 

eagcrnetta,  rvcklefts,  imjiatii-nt,  great 


STOLEN   WATERS.  105 

Of  the  tenderness,  passion,  or  love,  I  wera  blind 
Not  to  read  in  the  eye  constantly  seeking  mine, 
While  he  motionless  sat  nearly  all  of  the  ime 
Except  when  he  sang. 

I  have  flirted  before, 

Quite  desp'rately  also,  as  well  as  with  more 
Than  one  gentleman,  handsome  and  clever,  refined, 
Intelligent  too;  with  large  hearts,  and  line  minds, 
And  who  liked  pretty  well  insignificant  me. 
But  yet,  this  I  must  say :  that  I  never  did  see 
In  any  man's  face  so  much  passion  expressed, 
As  was  written  this  morning,  it  must  be  confessed, 
So  plainly  in  his,  my  dear  friend's ;  and  I  thought 
His  had  been  very  eloquent  ere  this,  but  naught 
To  compare  with  its  speaking  to-day. 

Well!  to-night 

He  also  was  there,  as  I  said,  the  same  light 
Tn  his  eye  that  had  shone  there  this  noon,  and  as  then. 
Soft  eyes  now  looked  love  to  eyes  speaking  again. 
The  evening  was  but  a  complete  repetition 
Of  to-day.     In  the  same  place  he  sat,  same  position, 
And  sent  to  me  glances  as  tenderly  sweet, 
Which  my  eye  just  as  vainly  as  then  sought  to  tieet 
With  aught  like  composure.     No  thought  did  he  seen? 
To  have  but  for  me ;  and  I,  too,  in  a  dream 
Of  pleasure  delicious  gave  all  mine  to  him, 
Enshrining  each  smile  my  heart's  chambers  within. 
And  paid  to  the  sermon,  I  fear,  little  heed, 
Wicked  girl  that  I  am  !     But  how  could  I,  indeed, 
Beneath  such  a  spell,  such  a  rain  of  soft  looks, 
With  before  me  a  face  like  a  wide-open  book, 
8* 


ioc  via 

acli  page— 

MgC  '. 

;    an! 

am  /  n- ••  :  can 

With  tin!  u-iuil  !••>  content, 

.ni.mj.lar-.  .ime  events? 

\Vhv  in  l>eyond 

For  «'•  '1  v.liirh  when  at  lost  fouiic: 

•  still  ur^cs  jno  on 
aiul  new  tliL'lit.s  of  hope 

By  the  way,  in  my  note— 

t..  niirlit, 
ice.     No  one 
lone 
-"*/*«"  did  not  coine 

"8* 

was  o'er 

ii>or 

in  my  liaiul — 
u  ran 

IK. I.  t 

to  remov' 

. 

•  »^.-r  iin;  ily  read 

'.'•  head 
IJ'-^au  in  this  v. 

u  \\  i  , .lit  lt>\»-jy  tlay  ! 


STOLEN  WATERS.  107 

have  lost  all  your  powers  prophetic,  forsc-oth  ! 
Well,  well !  do  my  eyes  now  bthold  you,  in  truth  ? 
And  have  I  been  gazing  indeed  in  the  deeps 
Of  the  eyes  soft,  cerulean  of  my  Bitter-Sweet  ?  " 
Then  he  told  me  that  he  had  been  reading  my  faw. 
And  that  a  few  lines  strongly  marked  he  could  tra. 
But  his  feeble  brain  could  not  endure  it  this  time 
For  a  perfect  analysis.     But  would  some  time 
Like  to  read  it  to  me.     Then  abruptly  he  said 

"  Behind  Mrs. 's  big  hat  why  keep  hiding  your  hea<i I 

Did  you  find  anything  between  some  of  the  leaves 
Of  the  psalm-book  to-day  ? 

"  I  suppose  Christmas  Eve 

I  shall  be  here  at  church.     Perhaps  B.  S.  will,  too. 
I  wish  I  could  get  a  good  chance  to  with  you 
Converse!     So  you  did  intend,  plainly,  I  see, 
To  have  some  amusement,  and  disappoint  me ! 
You  rogue !   I  shall  give  you  a  tiny-sized  piece 
Of  my  mind  when  I  see  you. 

"  The  sermon  ha«i  ceased 
{  Let  us  pray  ! ' 

"  \ntony." 

Underneath  he  writes  then, 
"  I  intended  to  givo  you  this  note  this  A.M. 
But  did  not  have  a  chance." 

That  is  all,  I  believe ; 

And  this,  too,  must  finish  my  record  this  eve, 
For  my  fire  has  some  time  since  entirely  ditxl  out, 
i'm  quite  chilled,  and  ha-se  caught  a  severe  :<>ld.  uo  doub',. 


108  STOLEN  WATERS, 

Dec  ','/».,  1863. 

THURSDAY. 

To-nigl  t'a  f":  I-'.vr!   and  to  iiui  it  has 

Quitt-  a  pleasant  > 

.   I   \vi. >''•  him 

A  letter  nn  Monday,  to  uk  it'  in-  til.-'. 
To  see  m<  moon  In-  i-ouid  oome  up 

At  I  •hoold  be  hon  Ma  at,  that  time 

i'.*  to  go  up  to  T  1  her  mind, 

Howe  -o  the  next  day  I  was  f 

To  writ-'  him  that  li-1  n.  'I1'  "'  ('"lirs* 

lay, 
»t receive  it;  Imt.  lia.l  y«^t<' 

:   ,1  !>«•  likely  to  go 
vn  di..  n  .lay  P.M.,  and  if  so 

t  scciiiH  li««  wouM  com* 
If  I  h:ul  not  writ  (.MI  liini  ip.t  to.      In  one 
I 

••<»  you  really  bitter,  or 
l.n'.loiiiinrit^s?      Or  an-  tlniy 
' 

i  unto  a 
fO,  or  are  tln-v  dill  "lgh 

><nrCiM  cannot  be  8ej>ara' 
Durtinguijihed.     Junt  posKihly,  now,  I  might  be 


STOLEN  WATERS.  101 

Enabled  to  answer  the  question — who  knows  ? — 
[f  women,  like  apples,  were  eaten.     Suppose 
Mo  taking  a  bite  out  your  cheek." 

He  went  or, 

With  much  moie  in  the  same  style,  and  then  farther  do*  c 
Writes— 

"  Christmas  is  coming  ;  the  Eve  will  fino  tt» 
Stowed  away  in  the  corner.' 

Abruptly,  then,  he 

To  a  close  brings  his  letter,  by  saying  he's  been 
Several  times  interrupted,  and  now  was  again 
Called  off,  so  would  close  that  he  might  get  it  in 
To  the  office  that  night. 

I  have  been  this  P.M. 

Down  town — sister  Fannie  and  I — got  my  ring, 
And  really  think  it  a  quite  pretty  thing. 
t  meant  my  dear  friend  should  have  been  the  first  one 
Co  clasp  in  his  own  my  hand  with  the  ring  on. 
But  was  foolish  enough  to  have  placed  it  on  my 
Right  hand,  and  a  gentleman  passing  us  by 
On  Broadway,  paused  to  speak,  and  ere  I  was  aware 
[  had  been  shaking  hands  with  my  brother. 

As  there 

Was  service  in  church  to-night,  all  of  us  went ; 
My  Antony  too,  was  of  course  there,  and  sent 
Me  many  a  glance,  most  impassioned  and  fond ; 
To  each  one  of  them  all  my  heart  could  but  respond 
In  tremulous  thrills  of  delight.     Oh  !  what  power 
That  man  has  o'er  me  !     Day  by  day,  hour  by  hour, 
It  seems  to  increase,  and  I  wonder  where  li'  s 
The  magic  1     Is  it  in  the  glanco  of  his  eycsj 


1 10  :/t? 

Of  h: 

'tent  th;m  all 

Which  ,  -.;r  ft  •«'!., 

I'lfii  fruit  "  In  -veet. 

Alas  I  I  a  -p, 

:  ml,  too, 

i»ut  too  true, 
r.tir  M'ttlit-i-  K\,'. 

•i«  uiul  f;       .  .is  i>nly  t<>,>  ,-..  ,-d, 

Dragging  down  all  her  ehi:  KM  fatal  full. 

Ah  !  r  us  all." 

.  \vhni  tried 
i   tiiaik  his  lovely,  weak 

urn 

i  (hem? 

It    w;u,  t; 

1,  1  own, 

f  the  olinir, 
I   o.tiM  hut  «Jo 

..    •  ;i«-n 

• 
Until  tuily  in.-  t,t 


STOLEN   WATERS.  Ill 

There  were  few  in  the  church  could  help  feeling,  to-night, 
That  "  music  hath  charms  "  ! 

And  the  sermon  vros  quiw 
As  fina  a  one  also  as  ever  I've  heard 
Mr.  S.  yet  deliver ;  I  think  not  a  word 
Was  lost  to  my  mind,  notwithstanding,  too,  that 
A  little  way  from  me  my  Antony  sat. 
All  conspiring  to  render  the  evening  to  me 
Quite  as  pleasant  as  I  could  desire  it  to  be. 
By  the  way,  I  did  feel  amused,  somewhat,  this  eve, 
At  what  little  Harry  remarked  (I  believe 
I  mentioned,  some  time  since,  my  sister  had  come 
On  from  Boston — of  course  bringing  also  her  son), 
And  to-night  Harry  said,  after  we  had  come  home, 
"  That  man  that  was  up  in  the  choir  looked  at  me 
Nearly  all  of  the  time  !  " 

Little  innocent !  he 

Took  all  to  himself  the  sweet  looks  which  were  meant 
For  another — one  who  in  return  for  them  sent 
Looks  as  warmly  impassioned.     He  never  once  thought 
There  was  greater  attraction  beside  him  than  aught 
He  could  offer,  to  cause  that  deep,  soft  sparkling  eye 
So  often  to  turn  toward  us. 

By  the  by, 

I  wrote  a  short  note  to  my  friend,  just  before 
I  went  out,  to  give  him  after  service  was  o'er ; 
And  succeeded  in  showing  it  to  him,  although 
None  but  him  I  think  saw  it.     But  ^needed  no 
Stronger  proof  that  he  did,  than  the  soft,  but  faint  glow 
Which  suffused  his  cheek  instantly,  also  the  quuk 
Intelligence  beaming  from  eyes  that  a  trick 


112  STOLEN  WATERS. 

Have,  I  fancy,  ol  piny  ing  tl.  to  wkut 

Wit liia  his  min4  t  Misses  sometimes,     lie  is  not 
Aware,  1  presume,  what  a  traitorous  face 
He  carries  with  him,  or  how  plain  I  can  trace 

changes,  at  times,  his  emotions  and  thought*. 

•  i-  quite  half-way  home,  ero  ho  caught 
Me  and  dext'rously  slipped  iu  my  hand,  as  he  passed, 

>te — and  which  pn>\ed  the  reply  to  my  hist, 
Which  I  looked  for  to  day — in  return  for  the  one 
II"  found  in  my  hand.      It  \\as  quietly  done, 
And  none  of  those  with  mo  I'm  sure  saw  the  act. 
He  turm-d  down  the  street  we'd  just  passed,  which  in  fact 
Was  his  <> 

And  his  letter  wa>  pleasant  and  kind. 
It  commenced  "  My  own  Hitter- Sweet/" — this  underlined 

i.stmas  Eve.     In  the  '  comer,'  "  'twas  dated,  and  on 
A  snmll  sheet  of  music  was  written.      He  found 
That  he  was  mistaken  in  thii 

Thai  must  insteac 

Use  this  "  B     -M."      He  ,iid  nut  till  thi>  morn 

. 

80  in  season  for  me  to  roc  ; 
He  c  <  say 

iias  wishes  began. 
, 

I  your  hand 
it  indeed 
yuii-  .ilthough  too  1 

What  Romeo  «ay»  to  the  fair  Juliet, 


STOLEN   WATERS  113 

WLen  he  &\  the  casement  has  just  perceived  her, 

In  the  scene  in  the  garden  ?     '  Oh,  would  that  I  were 

A  glove  on  that  hand,  that  1  might  touch  that  ?h«iek  I'  " 

rphen  of  various  trifles  he  goes  on  to  speak, 

And  writes  just  at  closing, 

"  The  young  ladies  wish 

To  know  what  I'm  writing.     I  tell  them  it  is 
A  love  letter,  and  they  are  anxious  to  see. 
In  your  rear,  rolling  up  her  eyes  here,  is  Mifs  T., 
As  if  she  thought  she  could  read  mischief  in  lue, 
And  indeed  I — 

"  The  sermon  is  now  at  an  end. 
"  Your 

"  Antony." 

This  little  note  from  "  my  friend," 
And  written  in  pencil  on  "  National  Hymn," 
Creased  in  folding,  and  soiled  slightly,  too,  having  been 
Held  some  moments  within  his  dear  hand  moist  and  warn 
Brings  before  we  with  such  force  the  face  and  the  form 
Of  my  dear,  dearest  friend,  that  it  now  almost  see  us 
As  if  he  were  here  in  reality.     Dreams 
From  which  I  awaken  to  find  I'm  alone, 
That  the  charm  of  his  dear — fancied — presence  has  flown, 
To  find  there  is  now  nothing  left  in  my  grasp 
But  a  piece  of  the  most  senseless  paper ;  yet  clasped 
With  fond  warmth  in  the  hand  which  in  passing  to-night 
For  a  moment  touched  his. 

Am  I  dreaming  tho',  quite  P 
If  I  am  not  I  should  be,  and  so  I  must  say, 
Christmas  Eve,  fare-thee-well,  and  good- night  f.>  to-day 


114  STVl.r.X    WATKRS. 


December  27*A,  18G3. 

DAY. 

SUyed  hone  all  day  Christmas  ami  most  cf  the  dtj 
1  Bat  ill  tlu>  parlor  with  book  or  « 
And  in  «•%••  iy   I  wrought, 

f  him  a  nioM  kind,  1'ri-  ndly  thought. 
With  a  <>f  when  uv  sliould  meet, 

If  ti.  !«']>lote, 

•he  day  h\\  I  was  blue 

As  any  one  could  lx»,  and  all  too, 

sant  eve  ; 
.    ! 
1  \s  ith  a  .  of  tears. 

.irs 
it  him  been 

Mm 

•  •,  and  to  nii,'ht  ; 
b  .y      all  tl 

i,  that  he 
•  vo  "  the*' 

uiatened  downstairs  soon  as  service  was  o'er— 
ite  near  to  the  veatibulo  door  — 

1 

A«  soon  as  myself,  uud  ho  walk,  d  jwirt  way  through 


STOLEN   WATEHS.  115 

^». 
To  the  door,  by  my  side,  as  he  took  from  aiy  hand 

The  note  which  was  in  it ;  but  he — ugly  man ! — 
Gave  me  none  in  return.     I  was  vexed  enough,  too  ! 
And  I  did  pinch  his  hand  just  a  little,  'tis  true, 
When  I  found  it  was  empty.     I  wished  I  had  not 
Have  given  him  mine,  then  ;  but  never  once  thought 
He  would  fail  to  give  me  one  as  well  the  same  time, 
And  I  think  that  he  might ! 

I  wrote  him  in  mine, 

To  come  out  and  see  me  next  Tuesday  P.M. — 
My  mother  is  going  to  Tarrytowa  then, 
If  she  don't  change  her  mind. 

I  believe  I  am  <*uite 

Too  cross,  or  too  blue,  or  despondent,  to  write 
Any  more,  so  my  book  I  will  close  for  to-night. 


December  30th,  1863. 

WEDNESDAY. 

Monday  was  to  me  one  of  the  most  wretched  daja 
That  I  ever  have  passed,  I  think.     In  the  first  place, 
I  felt  as  unhappy  as  could  be,  and  then 
To  Brooklyn  was  forced  to  go  in  the  A.M. 
And  ere  I  arrived  there  it  started  to  snow, 
Ard  continued  the  rest  of  the  day,  ar.d  also 
A  part  of  the  next.     I  reached  home  about  noon, 
And  Fannie  was  going  to  Tarrytown  soon, 
And  wished  me  to  accomrany  her.     I,  'tis  tr  ae, 
Did  not  like  to  at  all  j  but  then,  what  could  I  do  f 


116  \-   WATERS. 

[  had  no  excuse-,  she  insisted,  ami  I, 
As  a  n.  course,  could  do  naught  but  comply. 

And  so  one  more  brief  note  to  my  "own  Antony," 
I  wrot«-  era  I  started,  and  took  out  with  me, 
ail  on  the  way.     And  I  told  bum  that  he 
OHIO  out  on  Tuesday,  as  I  had  to  go 
of  town  for  a  few  days,  against  my  will,  though, 

i  should  In*,  without  much  doubt,  at  home 
Next  i  1  if  so,  be  al< 

ii'ii  should  !><•  happy  to  s«><>  him.      I  know 

what,   \vh<-n  ho  reads  it,   he'll  think.       Somehow 
though, 

:i<-h  time 
it,  tin-  fault  ha.slH-.-n  mine 

iy  time  wrote 

I1--  &L     iM  conic  at   flu-  liiif-   1  had  iiauu-d  in  my  note. 
I       ut  him  that    day  was  somewhat 

•    m-t-il  not  — 

•iirh  pleased  lnm  to  do. 

"  I  •'  iiall  not  t<>mpt  you 

I  think,  from  allngi&nce  unto  your  wife. 

•  be,  in  your  life, 

We  ra!!.-il  in  at  a  store 
•  t,  and  fi  '-re 

was   in(rodnc(«d  to 
•mas  evpuiii^' ;   who  ;!,,  n,  it  is  true, 

ii'iught 

Feel  at  all  liko  conv  mt  I 

Oared  nothing  abov  t     So  I'd  net  ra<jet  his  eye, 


STOLEN  WATERS.  117 

though  he  made,  Fannie  said,  every  effort  he  ecu  u 
To  attract  my  attention ;  but  did  him  no  good. 
I  knew  he  was  there,  so  woull  give  him  no  glance 
Of  recognition,  warranting  any  advance 
On  his  part. 

We  had  quite  a  time  getting  out 
To  T.,  for  the  snow  gained  so  fast  'twas  about 
All  the  cars  could  then  do  to  get  through,  and  'twas  lat« 
When  at  last  we  arrived  at  my  brother  Frank's  gate. 
Ths  next  day  my  depression  of  spirits  was  gone, 
So  I  had  a  nice  time,  notwithstanding  my  strong 
A- version  to  going. 

Came  home  this  P.M.  ; 

Found  letters  awaiting  me,  one  from  my  friend — 
'Twas  short,  but  most  kind,  and  he  said  he  had  been 
Nearly  "driven  to  death"  for  the  whole  day,  and  then 
Was  completely  fagged  out;  but  had  just  snatched  a  fe^» 
Brief  moments  to  tell  me,  and  hurriedly,  too, 
That  he  should  go  up  town  the  next  afternoon 
If  pleasant,  about  two  o'clock,  or  as  soon 
Thereafter  as  might  be,  according  to  my 
Instructions.     I  sent,  since  I  came  home  .to-night, 
Him  a  letter,  or  rather  a  word — it  was  not 
Hardly  worthy  the  name  of  a  letter,  as  what 
I  wrote  in  it  merely  was  "  Come  !  "  and  the  date — 
Though  I  signed  it,  of  course.     It  was  getting  quite  late 
When  I  went  out  to  mail  it.     A  man  spoke  to  me, 
A.nd  frightened  me  so  that  I  think  I  shall  bs 
More  careful  in  future  about  going  out 
In  the  evening  alone  ;  I  said  nothing  about 
It,  because  no  one  knew  that  I  went. 


118  STOLEN   WATERS. 

I  IT  goe» 

1'ji  to  T.  in  t!.  .  and  so 

A«  in  .  •  tide  v.  ill  b* 

• 

As  then-  will    },:•  ,iii\  :'u. 
Our  in. ••••  in,'  a 

i  it  !>••  my  di-nr  friend 

I  hh;ill  sen  in  one  IIKHV  day  ':     In    onco  have  him,   too 
To  ray  iivly  V      I   cannot,  can  you, 

My  Journal,  dear  'i  y.-t  r.-ali  •  in- ! 

I  have  air  with  so  nnn-l. 

passionate  loi.  in  sleep 

to  wake 
it  a  dream,  un  illu  ike, 

:t  hand, 

.  iind 

4ed,  I  cannot 
_;ive  cral>  ,  lupjiv  thongkt 

Le«t    :  ;illd   it   1)1, 

.  which  morning  li^l,t  scatters  away. 


!>•;•.  ml.-  r  ."•  !>•',    lSf',3. 
Til 

i 
I    d-'M-i  ;  :iie 

flyaor— <  »  be 

Bet  apart?      And  "one  l.iin.fil  ..I"  .M-n^it  ionn  n- w, 
An-l  deep,  gwe<'t,  and  thrilling;  of  sensation*,  too, 


STOLEN   WATERS. 

Known  but  once  in  a  lifetime."     I  think,  too,  that  h* 

Will  never  forget  it;  and  that  it  must  be 

To  him,  even,  man  of  the  world  as  he  is, 

A  day  of  some  import ;  and  that  I  in  his 

1  houghts  to-night  can  bub  have  a  conspicuous  pluc«. 

As  for  me,  I  can  now  close  my  eyes,  and  his  face 

Seems  right  here  before  me. 

He  came  this  P.M. 

A  bout  two  o'clock — not  much  later — and  when 
He  passed  by  the  window  I  saw  him,  and  so 
To  open  the  door  I  made  all  haste,  although 
He  yet  had  not  rung,  and  he  stood  before  me, 
Just  as  handsome  and  noble  as  ever ;  and  we 
Shook  hands  in  a  matter-of-fact,  friendly  way. 
No  confusion  on  either  side ;  and  I  must  say, 
Notwithstanding  that  we  to-day  met  under  such 
Circumstances  peculiar,  there  was  not  a  touch 
Of  embarrassment  shown  in  his  manner,  and  I 
None  experienced,  certainly!  even  if  my 
Cheek  was  flushed  with  excitement,  my  heart  beating 
With  joy  at  his  presence,  long  hoped  for,  at  last 
In  its  fulness  possessed. 

In  the  parlor  we  passed — 

And  sat  down  by  the  grate,  in  an  easy-chair,  I, 
He  seating  himself  in  another  near  by, 
Directly  in  front  of,  and  facing,  too,  mine. 
Of  various  matters  we  talked  for  some  time, 
And  1  fonni  my  dear  friend  to  be  quite  as  refined. 
As  intelligent,  too,  well  informed,  and  as  kind, 
\s  pleasing  in  manner,  in  voice,  and  in  speech — 
A  i  I  had  imagined  him.     Ind  >ed !  in  each 


V    WATERS. 

Il«-  hcul  of  I  fuul 

>,  Nvhk-h,  to  my  mind, 

:a  whirh  a  man  i-:iu  ]>O8SeMi 

<uld  be,  I  cuufeiB, 
\vhat,  hi,' 

.1:111  in  liiiu  wl  h  Mm  to-ilay. 

in-  has,  too,  I  can't  li-ss  <lo  tliau  say, 

:iv  man  \\liirli    I   1,  ,  ;' ,,re, 

•  ••rtaiii  (i  mad.-  m«-  moi» 

.':•!>•  hapjiy  than  h<- 

•  nil  me. 

w  or.l  that  liis  ilear 

j's  tlicain, 
And  I 
i 

'  \vhcre 
i  down, 

!l(l, 

s,  so  drlii-iouH  to  me, 
riit, 

I  cannot  write  I 
ingnage  find 

:.'V   niLl«t 

is:tU-,  thf  ;  iiat 

•• 

,  and  HO  why 
:ug  it  written  ?     Yet  I 


STOLEN  WATE118.  121 

Suppose  rather  pleasant  'twould  be,  by  and  by, 

These  leaves  of  my  life  to  turn  backward,  and  read 

Of  a  fancy — it  is  nothing  deeper,  indeed, 

i  am  certain — and  which  may  have  long  since  burnt  ot  tj 

And  a  memory,  that  half-forgotten,  no  doubt, 

Be  all  that  is  left  of  the  ashes.     I'll  try 

And  write  what  I  can,  though  it  should,  by  the  by, 

Bo  somewhat  incoherent. 

As  saying  before, 

Of  various  things  we  conversed,  and  went  o'er 
Some  points,  too,  of  our  correspondence.     Pretty  much 
The  first  thing  he  said  was, 

"  How  dare  you  make  such 
Grave  charges  against  me  ?  " 

And  this  with  a  smile 

Arch  and  humorous ;  I,  though,  could  not  for  awhile 
Understand  his  allusion,  and  so  I  told  him, 
And  he  only  repeated  the  same  thing ;  but  in 
A  moment  or  two  it  had  flashed  on  my  mind 
To  what  he  referred — what  I  wrote  the  last  time — 
That  "  I  should  not  tempt  him,  etc.,"  and  so 
I  answered, 

"  I  recollect  now,  but  you  know 
[  dare  to  do  anything,  but  to  meet  you  !  " 
lie  laughed  then  a  little,  replied, 

"  So  you  do 
Think,  then,  it  would  not  be  the^/irstf  time,  do  you  ?  * 

He  hardly  looks  like  the  same  man  in  the  choir 
ITiat  he  does  out  of  it ;  not  but  what  I  admire 
Him  as  much,  or  but  what  he  looks  quite  as  well, 
Near  by  as  he  does  farther  off.     To  the  view 
0 


V     \V.\1I 

Distil.  •,  in  this  lag* 

and  in  fiioe. 

Jit 

: 

By  any  nv  i^li  In-  i:. 

Of  u  Vntony  ;" 

,  he 

Hid  I. is  !>•  aid  darker,  *.oo  ; 
'cr,  not  q  1.     I  do 

•hink  that  li-'  i-iili.  !i  ^p.uje 

.nncr,  al! 
nr:irly  a  inc. 

Il'-iiiarkiiij;  to  linn 

when  in 
•lied, 

.v  did    [ 

IT  •  i 
V-  I  think, 

I  Inquired  whoM  i-lace  shr. 

WJIM  to  tak.-.  th.-  BopranoX  or  a!;- •'.-..      And  he 

'  an.l    111-  - 

••vn.s  to  sing  in  th<   ;  M  , 

i  r.-d,  !•;, 
'     }'"U  JTuU' 

Auk-  v      II  .1 

• 

tlf  no  ex'| 
And  iuld.-,l  that  .'/»  the  piece  there  waa  aome  qi 


STOLEN  WATERS  V 

Stiong  language  employed ;  arid  then  (juoted,  iu  his 

Tones  so  matchless,  the  few  lines  commencing  with  this, 

"  And  wore  1  this  instant  mi  angel,  possessed 

Of  the  glory  and  peace  that  is  given  the  blest, 

I  would  throw  my  white  robes  imrepiningly  down, 

And  tear  from  my  forehead  its  glittering  crown, 

To  nestle  once  more  in  that  haven  of  rest  "- 

At  Ilie  next  line  he  paused,  and  with  archness  expti 

In  1m  face,  and  I  fancied  some  bashfulness,  said, 

With  a  little  short  laugh,  tossing  backward  his  head, 

"I've  forgotten  the  rest !  " 

He  informed  me  that  he 

And  my  Sabbath-school  teacher  schoolmates  used  to  be. 
1  exclaimed  in  surprise,  "  Why  he's  older  than  you  ?  " 
I  lc  smiled,  said,  "  I  guess  not,  think  he's  fifty-two, 
And  I  fifty-seven  !  " 

"  You  are  not  so  old  !  " 

I  replied,  and  I  knew  by  his  face  he'd  not  told 
Me  the  truth  when  he  answered  me — "  Why !  that  is  not 
Very  old,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not  so  very,  I  thought, 

Though  that  you  was  much  younger  !  "  replied  I,  and  be 
Saidx  "  No  !  I  am  just  seventeen  !  r' 

Teasing  me, 

I  of  course  knew  he  then  was,  or  trying  to  do ; 
So  I  said  "  No !  but  tell  me,  just  how  old  are  you !  " 
"  Thirty-seven,"  he  then  said  he  w;is,  and  I  knew 
That  this  time,  at  least,  he  was  telling  me  true. 
Just  i<,  think  of  it !     He  was  last  year  twice  as  old 
As  I  I     And  bow  long  he'd  been  married,  he  told 
Me,  as  veil.     Fifteen  yoars,  I  believe,  and  so  T 
Was  scarcely  four  years  old.     He  would,  by  the  by, 


H 

1  lave  had  a  long  time  to  have  waited  for  m«. 
He  Las  two  little  boy.-    and  tin-  old«  st  thirteen, 
The  other  oiie  seven.     I  never  have  seen 
The  youngest. 

I  spoke  of  a  cousin  of  mine 
Seeing  him  at  a  ball,  one  eve,  some  little  time 

he  .siid  he'd  not  IH.VII  to  but  one 
This  season  ;  and  i  i  uisonic.      He'd  on 

._',  also.     I  asked  him  if  he 
.  and  could  In-  in>t  give  unto  me 

d  he  answered,  "Oh,  yes!  "  as  ho  took 
.and  in  his  o\\n,  but  of  -..erely  shook 

It,  and  naturally,   I 

i  in  his  ehisp 
The  hand  1  .j^h  from  his  <j 

J.ut  L  l.\, 

1  I 

IK-ll. 

uld 

Have  liiadi-  Mi.-h  ad\ .;:..       .       I   thin!,  that    1   .--houM 
B0  ftffootod  and  t'ooli.  li  it'   1  should  jin-lnul 

i.d 

.  also  nil  throu 

h*-re 
,1  me 

•  i-ak,  but  un| 
1 

.d  not  bl.tuio  him 
I  can  but  acknowledge  he'»  l«een 


STOLEN  WATERS.  125 

Exceedingly  generous,  and,  I  have  had 

Occasion  but  once  any  fault  to  find — that 

Was  his  sending  the  poem,  to  which  some  wa_y  back 

I  think  I  referred.     Therefore,  1  was,  in  fact, 

Prepared  for  injustice,  yet  still  hoped  he  might 

fn  the  end  change  his  niind,  and  I  think  ihat,  to-uight, 

Of  ine  his  opinion  is  different  quite 

From  what  'twas  this  morn.     I  repelled  all  I  could, 

Without  being  rude,  the  caresses  he  would 

Have  lavished  on  me ;  and  I've  no  fault  to  iind, 

And  he,  I  am  certain,  went  home  with  his  mind 

In  regard  to  my  frailty  quite  disabused.     And, 

While  making  him  fully,  I  think,  understand 

I  was  not  what  he  thought  me,  I  did  not  repel 

What  I  knew  was  quite  harmless,  and  also  was — v/ell, 

There  has  been  in  my  heart  for  so  long  an  intense, 

Half-unconscious  desire  for  my  friend's  dear  pre.st'iice— 

A  longing  just  once  to  be  clasped  in  his  arms, 

That  now  that  my  wishes  could  be  without  harm 

Gratified,  why  should  T,  what  he  gave  on  his  part 

With  so  much  of  pleasure,  refuse,  while  my  heart 

A  rapid  response  beat  to  each  fond  caress 

That  he  offered.     And  so  I  did  not,  I  confess, 

Repulse  him,  when  he  his  head  laid  on  my  breast, 

But  suffered  it  there  a  few  moments  to  rest, 

While  I  to  his  forehead  my  cheek  softly  pressed, 

As  happy  as  he.     Nor  again,  when  he  drew 

Me  within  his  embrace  foi   a  moment  or  two, 

Just  before  he  was  leaving,  and  pressed  on  my  lip* 

His  first  kiss,  while  to  my  very  finger-t  ips 

(  felt  the  blood  rush  from  my  heart. 


126  ATO/./:.\  \v.in-;ii& 


!!••.  at  last, 

Having  glanced  at    hi  1   that  two  hours    hi*  I 

^ed, 

And  'twas  then  four  oY 

;   and   to  lind 

Him   witu   me  she   must  not;  so  I  told  him  that  h- 
which  hi-  already  kn.-w.      So  of  i 

and  kiiully,  ho  went, 

One  nmrc  hour  was  far  sp 
.iinc  liomc,  so  In-  ncfd  not  1 
So  Boon,  hud  I  kini\\n  it  \si,i,'il  lin-n  ipiiti-  so  long 

i  home 

alone  — 
..  n  town  this  . 
l.-ll  IMiii  .11, 

1-  nd   1 

.  ith  my 
•  WH  resting  on  ir, 

my  eyes,  and   my  thoughta  —  oh, 

8ht)'<  iid.-r,  too,  wlu?Uiei 

"  // 

re  in  a  ill 

^ 

And  Til      \  :•  .:.-!,  has  been 

•!iin 
My  heart's  "  white-wa«h  .    n 

<it>-ri  AHE  tux 


STOLEN    WATERS.  127 

And  I  also  must  bleed 

With  adieus  to  the  day  a  good-night  to  my  friend, 

ast  give  a  tear 


(it  regret,  and  farewells  to  the  speeding  "  Old 

frll      -       »—  i  -  *  K^M^-^"^^^^"V  ^»  _       ii  -y^^yV^  .  _'_  j?        .      in—  -  •—  """ 


January  8th,  1864. 
FRIDAY. 

"  The  great  laws  of  life  readjust  their  infraction, 

to  every  emotion  appoint  a  reaction." 
That  sentiment  I  indorse  with  all  my  heart, 
And  have  realized  fully,  I  think,  for  my  part, 
The  truth  of  the  sentence.     That  pleasure  must  be 
By  misery  followed  inevitably. 
No  letter  last  Saturday  did  I  receive, 
As  I  hoped  that  I  might;  and  the  Sabbath,  indeed, 
Was  a  miserable  day  all  around.     In  the  morn 
I  of  course  went  to  service.     My  brother  was  down 
And  went  to  church  with  us.     My  cousin  came,  too, 
From  Brooklyn,  and  as  to  myself,  I  was  blue, 
[  thought,  as  I  could  be,  before  I  went  out ; 
But  my  spirits,  when  I  had  returned,  were  about 
Ten  degrees  lower  still. 

"Well !  my  friend  was  thorf 
A.nd  he  much  as  usual  appeared,  it  is  true ; 
Vet  I  own  I  was  rather  dissatisfied,  felt 
Cross  at  him  just  a  little,  and  more  at  myself. 
[  also  was  vexed  that  I  had  not  received 
A.uy  letter  from  him  Saturday,  and  believed 


M 

That  ae  might  to  i  o,  if  he  h:ul  oared  lo, 

•;iken,  to  do, 
Aiul  wus  in":  i  than  caring  to  own. 

ve  returned  home, 

Had  some   words,  which  were  called   out  by  scmethuig 
said, 

ml  then,  too,  my  head 
: iost  jus  niueh  .  :i(l   I   thought, 

thoroughly   fraught 

ii  annoyances,  trifling,  perhaps,  luit  yet  none 
Tlie  less  irritating  and  vexing,  aa  one 
Very  frequently  passes. 

Th.-re  was,  by  the  by, 

I»  the  el,  . ,  that  night, 

And  no  service  in  church,  and  so  I  was  quite 

•ne. 

i  the  Kell  ring 
nything 
••j  conne<|  •:u<mucA  ]  >  6nd 

• 

I    I    then 

pleasing,  an-1  \vh--n 

I  had  ojM-nr«l  |  I   t'.uii'l  th.-re  en.-loHed 

io ! 

;  -lif-1  to  in:ike  uji  t 

••r  to-day 

i   '-.in   I  but  say, 
WM  •  xpressed. 

•nenced  "  I  !IM(1,  f.  r  the 

i   could 
'iave  neiti  ,,.  npace. 


STOLEN  WATERS.  129 

Thought  he  should 

In  the  choir  his  position  resign  soon,  although 
lie  did  "  rather  like  the  old  '  corner,'  "  and  so 
Ouess  he'll  not.     And  his  letter  I  answered  to-night, 
And  mailed  it.     I  went  past  his  house.     A  bright  light 
Was  in  parlor  and  hall ;  but  the  shades  were  drawn  down. 
I  saw  naught  of  him — presume  he  was  down  town. 
Sister  Fannie  to  Boston  returned  yesterday. 
I'm  so  tired,  and  think  I  have  no  more  to  say. 


Ja/nuwry  10^,  1864. 

SUNDAY. 

Do  not  feel  much  like  writing,  have  not  much  to  write ! 
It's  become  second  nature  to  write  Sabbath  night. 
So,  as  is  my  wont,  I  have  taken  my  pen, 
And  opened  my  book  for  that  purpose.     But  then, 
As  before  I  have  said,  I  have  not  much  to  say. 
The  fact  of  the  matter  is,  I  am  to-day 
In  much  too  low  spirits  for  anything.     Too, 
There's  nothing  of  import  occurred,  since  with  you 
I  chatted,  my  Journal,  a  few  nights  ago. 
Lorette  was  here  yesterday  afternoon,  so 
We  went  with  some  friends  to  the  theatre.     Then 
I'd  an  invitation  to  B.  this  P.M. 
To  dine,  but  'twas  so  "  bitter  cold  "  did  not  go. 
Went  to  church  morn  and  evening  as  usual,  and  so 
Of  course  saw  my  Antony.     I  did  not,  though, 
Pay  but  little  attention  to  him,  nor  did  he 
To  me  either  this  morning;  he  seemed,  tUmign,  to  00 
6* 


130  STOLEN   WATERS. 

Very  pleasant  and  smiling  this  evening,  but  I 
Looked  coldly  away,  and  would  not  meet  his 
[  Hujijxjse  that  he  thinks  I  am  ugly — I,  too, 
Think  k«  is  a  little,  my  Journal ;  don't  you  ? 


January  1 4th,  1864. 

THURSDAY. 

One  more  pleasant  day  in  my  changeable  life ! 
Again  I  can  write  of  some  hours  that  were  rife 
With  pli'..  .'iid  of  with  pain.     A  short  note 

I  sent  to  my  Antony  Tuesday  last.     Wrote 
That  i.  us  going  to  Brooklyn  to-day, 

.  if  ho  could  come  out  this  P.M.,  and  stay 
An  hour  or  two  with  m<  Mould  be  glad 

To  see  him,  of  course.     I  had  hoped  to  have  had 

.u  answer  :  now 

Was  1  None  arrived,  though,  and  BO 

r  to  expect  him  or  not. 
About  no  i,  the  l>rll  loudly  rang,  and  I  thought 

r's  ring; 
But  it  was  so  1  t  be  him. 

note 

,  though  ho  wrote 
f»r  him,  •  1  he  say 

AH  to  whether  1  «  shou  ,  come  out  to-day 

He  aaked  near  th<  >y  morn 

The  sermon  ;  and  •  .u.ily  look  down, 

A»  it  Hcomrd  j  ist  as  though  some  one's  eyes  were  on  him 
All  the  time. 


STOLEN   WATERS.  131 

Well,  of  course  I  was  dressed  and  within 
The  parlor  before  two  o'clock ;  but  I  had 
Nearly  given  him  up  ere  he  came  ;  but  was  glad, 
Very  glad,  to  see  his  well-known  form,  pass  at  length, 
rhe  window ;  and  so  to  the  hall-door  I  went, 
And  admitted  my  friend. 

Mrs.  A.,  who  has  been 

Staying  here  for  some  time,  had  gone  out  this  P.M., 
Saying  that  she  expected  a  call  from  a  friend, 
And  asked  me  if  I  would  not  see  him,  and  tell 
Him  why  she  was  absent,  and  send  him  there.     Well ! 
I  promised  to  do  so,  and  thought  it  was  him, 
When  soon  after  my  friend  came  I  heard  the  bell  ring. 
So  I  went  to  the  door ;  but  a  lady  was  there 
Whom  I  did  not  know ;  proved  to  be  a  Miss  Ware, 
A  teacher  of  music,  and  came  here  to  see 
If  mother  would  not  allow  Gertrude  to  be 
A  pupil  of  hers.     So  I  told  her  that  I 
Would  speak  to  mamma  about  it,  and  would  try 
And  at  once  let  her  know  the  result.     She  had  then 
Full  particulars  given  to  me ;  therefore,  when 
She  asked  me  if  she  might  come  in,  I  was  so 
Much  surprised  that  just  what  to  reply  did  not  know. 
Nor  did  I  think  ahead  far  enough  then  to  say 
That  I  was  engaged,  and  if  some  other  day 
She'd  call,  she  would  doubtless  mamma  find  at  home. 
Hesitating  one  instant,  the  next  I  had  shown 
Her  in  the  front-parlor      My  Antony  then 
Had  my  albums,  and  sat  calmly  looking  at  them ; 
He  was  in  the  back  room;  both  the  doors,  though;  betwee* 
Were  wide  open,  and  so  she  of  course  must  have  seen 


132  V  WATERS. 

Him  sitting  there;  but  I  did  not  at  the  time 

Think  anything  of  .t,  Journal  mine, 

That  I  wished  she  would  go.     And  she  did  not  say  jns 

Single  ching  except  what  she  had  previously  done. 

Remained  a  few  moments,  and  then  went  away. 

*8he  gave  me  her  card,  and  I  found,  by  the  way, 

That  she  on  the  same  street  resid'-d  that  he 

Does.     He  looked  at  her  card,  and  ho  said  she  must  be 

But  a'  few  xloors  from  him,  and  he  guessed  he  would  go 

And  take  lessons  in  singing  ;  but  fie  did  not  know 

Her  at  all,  in  reply  to  my  question,  said. 

Well! 

We  were  having  a  cosey  chat  all  to  ourselves, 
When  some  lit  tie  t;  In-  1><-11  mug  again. 

Yon  !  did  not  £<>  tin's  time,  but  when 

In  a  moment  Ann  opened  th«-  door,  I  heard  them 

iir«-  for  my  n  d  heard  her  reply 

That  she  was  away  ;  she  believed,  though,  that  1 
Was  at  home.     So  at  once  turned  to  show  thorn  into 
The  parlor,  1  >ut      most    :  .s  true  — 

key  I  had  turned  when  they  rang,  and  she  found 
The  door  fastened.     And  so  after  upstairs  and  down 
She  had  looked  for  mo  vainly,  inf.  .nurd  them  that  I 
Mu«t  also  have  p.ne  .,m.      And  \\ln-n,  l«y  the  by, 

•r  mini-"  f-nind  them  to  be 

ii  hidies   m-.-t  pn.i;  ITe 

•lied  to  know  wh  re,  and   1  told  him.     Ho« 


Th«-v  m  :ed  to  l«  locked, 

\i-  I  (iiey  had  been  shown  in  the  parlors,  to  find 
Him  and  me  there  alone.     Twould  created  a  fine 
oe  of  scandal,  no  doubt.     But  I  wonder,  in  time, 


STOLEN  WATERS.  133 

Tliat  I  thought  to  do  so  ,  but  ''twas  well  that  I  did, 
Thus  escaping  unpleasant  exposure. 

Amid 

So  mu  ch  interruption,  the  afternoon  passed 
Away  but  too  swiftly.     Hours  too  bright  to  l«st 
Glided  rapidly  onward.     Why  cannot  we  stiy 
The  swift  flight  of  Time  ?     Sometimes  bid  a  to-day 
So  happy  and  joyous  to  tarry  alway  ? 
We  did  have  a  nice,  pleasant  time  this  P.M. 
It  seems  as  if  I  had  for  years  known  my  friend. 
Was  just  as  affectionate,  gentle,  and  kind, 
And  charming,  to-day,  as  he  was  the  last  time 
He  was  here.     And  I  do  like  him  much,  and  I  gueas 
That  he  does  me  a  little.     And  yet,  I  confess 
That  my  feelings  have  been  vastly  different  this  eve 
Than  they  were  the  last  time  ;  and  think  I  may  believe 
I  have  conquered  that  fancy. 

The  reason  he  wrote 

Not  a  word  about  coming,  within  his  last  note, 
Was  that  it  was  written  on  Tuesday  ;  the  boy 
Let  the  mail  all  lie  over,  and  which  did  annoy 
Him  much  ;  but  supposed  that  I'd  receive  mine 
Yesterday  afternoon.     I  coaxed  him  for  some  time 
To  give  back  my  letters ;  but  he  would  not  say 
That  he  would  or  would  not,  only  that  he  some  day 
Desired  "  reading  them  backwards."     That's  all  the  *[>ly 
I  could  get  to  my  teasing.     It  seems  he  is  quite 
Immovable  when  he  once  makes  up  his  mind, 
And  he's  not  to  be  coaxed,  neither  driven,  I  find, 
Into  what  he  decides  not  to  do.     But  I  thought 
Him  more  pleasing  in  his  cctr'ersation,  and  not 


134  STOLEN  WATERS. 

The  less  fr*y.ina.ting  in  manner,  to-day, 

Than  when  he  was  with  ine  before.     Can  but  MJ 

That  in  every  respect  he's  a  gentleman,  too, 

And  I  like  him  extremely  1    My  Journal,  don't  you  ? 

I  went  out  the  evening  to  pass  with  some  friends, 
Which  I'm  sure  I  could  not  done  the  last  time ;  but 

•'viously  said,  I  am  now  feeling  quite 
InditF'n-nt  to  him  when  compared  to  that  night. 

:  esence  to-day  gave  me  much  pleasure,  though, 
And  the  evening  has  been  very  happy  also, 
Fill*  >1  with  thoughts  of  his  tenderness,  manliness,  grace, 
His  good  sense,  his  kind  words,  and  his  loving  embrace 
As  he  kissed  me  at  parting.     May  he  have  to-night 
Happy  thoughts  'till  ho  sk-ops,  and  then  dreams  of  delight  I 


January  24th,  1864. 

8UKDAT. 

One  more  dreary  week  has  vanished  and  passed, 
But  I've  naught  to  record,  since  vh.-n  lu-re  I  wrote  lust, 
Except  disappointment  and  ;  at, 

,  and  diflplm. 

Last  Sabbath,  I  went 

To  church  morn  and  eve.     Our  new  ginger  was  then  , 
•  <  sat  1»ack  with  IHT  in  the  morn.     Did  I  care? 
Not  so  much  as  I  HhouKl  have  a  few  weeks  ago. 
Remained  in  the  "  corner  "  that  o\ ruing,  although, 
And  sent  to  m«  glances  both  smiling  and  tweet, 
When«v«r  my  «yec  I  allowed  hia  to  moot. 


STOLEN    WATBR8.  135 

Which  was  not  very  often.     I'm  sure  he  Cv/uld  read 
Naught  but  coldness,  indifference  in  mine,  and,  indeed, 
I  fdt  coldly  to  him.     When  they  sang  the  last  1  yma 
1  saw  the  new  singer  and  him  whispering ; 
They  pretended  that  it  was  the  music  about — 

Perhaps  that  it  was !     Mrs.  ,  his  wife — was  out. 

I  wish  she  would  stay  home. 

Monday,  went  o'er  to  B. 
It  rained,  I  got  wet,  the  result  was  to  me 
A  cold  most  severe ;  and  the  next  day  I  could 
Hardly  hold  up  my  head. 

Mother  thought  that  she  shou:  I 
Go  up  to  my  brother's  on  Thursday ;  at  length 
Decided  she  would  not;  so  I  did  not  send, 
Of  course,  for  my  friend,  until  Frank  that  A.M. 
Came  up  here  and  said  that  the  baby  was  sick, 
And  wished  her  to  go  j  so  she  dressed  just  as  quick 
As  she  could,  and  went  off;  and  then,  writing  to  him, 
I  sent  it  down  town  by  a  friend  who  was  in — 
Making  him  understand  'twas  an  order  for  books. 
I  told  him  I  knew  he  could  come,  and  I  looked 
For  him,  too  ;  but  be  did  not.     I  felt  just  as  vexed 
As  I  could  do,  of  course ;  and  I  thought  I  would  next 
A  letter  send  him  he  would  quite  understand  ; 
Make  a  change  for  the  better,  or  else  be  a  grand 
Winding-up  of  the  whole. 

And  I  wrote,  I  could  Bee, 
I  thought,  how  it  was ;  he  was  getting  to  be 
Tired  of  our  correspondence — disliked  to  say  so  ; 
But  he  said  voluntarily,  some  time  ago, 
That  when  weary  of  it  hei'd  at  once  let  me  know. 


13€  STOLEN  WATXR8. 

80  I  meant  that  he  should ;  und  I  said  'twas  to  m« 
Most  certainly  ]  leasant — bus  only  while  he 
Wrote  promptly  ;   but  since  tin. :.  .1  much  more  p*ia 

Than  pleasure,  indeed.     Then  J  wrote, 

"  It  is  plain 

You  care  not  for  me,  and  I  never  once  thought 
That  you  did  ;  and  I  also  can  say  I  do  not 
Care  much  fur  you,  fit  her.     Tl.t-  crisis  has  pas 
Your  recent  neglect  has  been  withering  fast 
All  affection's  sweet  roses,  too  fragile  to  last, 
Which  h:id  bloomed  in  my  bosom  for  you,  until  naught 
Remains  but.  a  few  faded  leaves  which  I  caught 

i  these,  too,  I  shall  not 

ud  allow 
The  'dead  past  to  bury  its  dead.'     1  shall  see 

have  lo^t  over  mo 

All  you  i  .  indeed, 

An-!  i  Sweet'  (?) 

Whil"  y  .t  in  the  seat 

:n  church.       I   am  w.-.i;  .ug; 

New  business  it  is  to  n  iugi 

•hiuk  1  h.i\e  had  much  success, 
ipt  it  air.:  f'-ss; 

>ti, 
if  there  in  any  more  wooing  to  d 

then,  at  the 

">86, 

That  is 

To  say,  at  once  candidly,  if  'twas 
To  our  corresi>oudfuce  dose  now  ;  and  if  BO, 
Or  if  not,  I  requested  t  ,••  know 


STOLEN  WATERS.  137 

By  a  note  Sunday  eve  without  fail.     And  I  trust 
It  may  bring  a  change,  and  indeed  think  it  must. 

Before  I  had  sent  this>  the  following  day, 
I  an  answer  received  to  my  other,  to  say, 
He  had  just  returned  home  from  the  country,  and  foi.nd 
My  note,  but  could  not  possibly  get  up  town 
That  P.M.,  as  he'd  business  he  could  not  defer ; 
So  we'd  have  to  postpone  it.     Wrote  but  a  few  words, 
Scarce  a  page,  but  most  kindly.     So  then  what  to  do, 
About  sending  my  letter,  indeed  hardly  knew. 
But  at  length  thought  I  would,  the  result  of  it  be 
What  it  might. 

Lorette  came  up  to-day,  and  with  me 
Went  to  church.     He  sat  back  with  the  singers  again. 
She  asked  if  I  saw  how  he  looked  at  me  when 
They  were  singing.     I  did  wo,  or  rather  I  knew 
His  eyes  were  on  me,  though  I  would  not,  'tis  true, 
Look  fully  at  him.     After  service,  Lorette 
And  I  went  down  town  a  short  distance.     We  met 
My  friend  and  his  wife  at  the  corner,  and  each 
Walked  down  the  same  street  'till  their  door  they  had 

reached — 

But  we  on  the  opposite  side — and  as  he 
Turned  in  closing  the  door  he  sent  over  to  me 
Smile  and  bow,  too,  of  greeting  most  kind.     We  can.* 
The  same  way,  some  time  later.     Lorette  said  he  sat 
A  t  the  window  ;  so  doubtless  he  saw  us,  but  I 
Did  not  glance  toward  there  while  the  house  passing  by 
This  evening  he  sat  in  the  "corner."     I  though; 
He  was  writing,  but  now  t  suppose  he  WES  not, 


13S  STOLEN  WATERS. 

As  ho  gave  me  na  letter — most  provoking  man  f — 
ithstanding  my  urgent  request.    And  how  can 
I  avoid  feeling  coolly  and  cross  to  him,  too, 
If  be  does  look  BO  kindly  at  ine?     And  I  dot 


January  31«<,  1864. 

SUB  DAY. 

The  letter  I  so  much  desired  last  Sunday 
Wan  on  Wednesday  received.     Not  a  word  did  he  H»J 
About  our  correspondence  now  closing;  but  said 

lie  was  last  Sabbath  so  situated 
Twas  impossible  quite  ho  slmnld  gi\.-  <m>  a  note. 
His  letter  was  pleasant  ami  kind,  and  1m  wrote 
no  length  beside,  and  In-  I.-:  <>  me 

be  acceptable.     Thought  there  would  fat 
ng(>  in  the,  oh  iiad  been 

•  to  him, 

•••11  wlutt 

:  liMjM'  lin  will  : 
Leave  .     I  UB  rare  if  I  really  thought 

He  would,  I  should  be  IM..I-.-  iiiilia].|ty  than  now. 
ily  Ix-  pos  il.l--,   I   will  allow. 
Snid  he  saw  me  go  >on  last. 

And  as  to  to  il,  has  passed 

Quit.-  fWtly,  r  ^intly.      !!•• 

Bat  l-.'.rk  i  ir  rocrn  and  eve;  but  on  an 

Me  I  -  i  iring  singirg,  and  tb« 

M  w«ll,  leaning  over  to  see 


STOLEN  WATJSRS.  130 

M«  as  I  passed  out,  though  I  would  not  giv«  him 

One  full  glance  in  return.     After  all,  though,  Fv«  been 

And  hive  felt  toward  him  much  less  coolly  to-day 

Than  I  have  for  some  time.     If  he'd  but  keep  away 

From  our  new  soprano,  I  think  I'd  not  be 

Quite  so  cross  with  him.     So,  I  am  jealous,  you  see, 

My  Journal !     The  fact  is,  I  have  not  one  bit 

Of  confidence  in  him ;  for  if  he  sees  fit 

To  flirt  so  with  me,  he  with  others  will,  too, 

And  I  cannot  respect  a  man  who  is  untrue 

In  what  aliould  be  the  dearest  relations  of  life. 

Let  me  once  get  my  letters  from  him,  and  then  I've 

Done  with  him. 

"  She"  was  there,  too,  this  evening — his  wife  ;— 
She  watches  me  closely,  as  if  she  might  be 
Just  the  least  trifle  jealous.     She  need  not — of  me. 
And  I  was  of  her  once,  but  think  I'm  not  now, 
For  she's  much  more  cause  than  I  have,  I'll  allow. 


February  1st,  1864. 

MONDAY. 

I  imagine  the  end  can  be  not  distant  far ! 
That  the  time  swift  approaches  when  he  and  I  are 
To  become  merely  strangers  again.     And  to-day 
Has  been  an  eventful  one,  I  can  but  say  ! 
In  the  first  place,  this  morn  I  a  letter  received 
From  him,  which  was  written  on  Saturday  eve : 
Was  just  going  up  to  rehearsal,  he  wrote. 


140  STOLEN  WATERS. 

"  ?Twwi  A  bore,  ihould  be  glad  when  relieved  !  "      But  I 

hopo 
That  time  will  n>t  come  very  soon. 

"  I  suppose 

I  shall  see  you  to-morrow,"  he  writes,  near  the  close — 
"  But  know  not  a  liall  hardly  dare  meet 

i-  eyes,  lest  I  see  that  you  look,  Bitter  Sweet, 

Yowningly  at  me  because  I  have  not 
Implied  to  y-nir  letter  U  f.  m-,  as  1  thought 
To  be  able  to  do.     This  is,  though,  the  first  chance 

I   have  1, 

was  nut  much  fear  in  his  glance 
Last  Sabbath,  nor  did  I  frown  miu-h,  I  believe. 
But  he  wrote  before  this — 

••  1  a  ]•  ved 

Anonymously  but  a  few  days  ago, 

^ard  to  my  visiting  up  town ;  and  so 
It  seems  some  one  saw  m  ;  ains 

To  warn  me  of  it,  and  a<  ame 

To  bad  motives.     1'  ;  as  well,  for  although 

'.s  free  ft  ,;iy  not  think  BO. 

ug  worse.      Wt-11  !    wt>  all   an-  (jiiit.-  liki-ly,  'tis  Inio 

•i  tliin  IM>«'.      And  \M-  :-lin\ilil  i    !  imps  bear  in  mind 
•  I  all  appearance  of  wr< 

ii  a  moment  just  where  it  came  from — 

The  r..  lie  was  i. 

From  no  one  else  could  it  i  1 1  is  clear 

Bbe  mw  him  come  in,  and,  they  living  so 


HTOLEN  WATERS.  14 

to  each  other,  she  certainly  must  have  known  him  ; 

80  suppose  that  she  made  up  her  mind  to  come  in 

And  ascertain  why  he  was  there.     I  thought,  then, 

Rather  strange  she  should  ask  if  she  might,  and,  too,  whee 

She'd  already  said  all  necessary  to  say. 

She's  contemptible !     Bad  as  I  am,  or  she  may 

Think  I  am — for  I  fancy  I'm  not,  by  the  way, 

Any  worse  than  she  is — I  would  ne'er  condescend 

To  do  aught  so  mean.     Force  herself  in,  and  then 

Take  advantage  of  what  she  discovei-ed,  to  send 

An  anonymous  letter  to  him.     She  is  not, 

Neither  is  her  opinion,  deserving  a  thought ! 

But  it  is  rather  galling  to  be  so  misjudged, 

To  a  proud  girl  like  me,  it  is  true  !     But  then,  fudge  I 

Tt  is  not  worth  minding,  to  come  from  that  source, 

Though  for  his  sake,  it  could  but  annoy  me,  of  course. 

But  if  it  don't  get  to  his  wife  I  don't  care  1 

Finished  reading  my  letter,  I  went  right  downstairs, 
And  nearly  the  first  thing,  mamma  asked  me  where 
My  letter  was  from.     An  evasive  reply 
Was  I  forced  to  make.     This  concealment,  though,  I 
Can  hardly  endure.     'Tis  quite  foreign  to  my 
Nature,  habit,  and  wish.     But  it  shall  not  be  so ! 
I  will  sever  all  ties  that  now  bind  us,  although 
My  heart  it  should  break.     Though  there  is  not  much  feai 
Of  that,  I  imagine  !     Instead,  it  is  clear 
Twill  be  more  a  relief  than  aught  else  to  me.     Yot, 
Can  I  give  him  up  ?     It  will  be  hard,  I  expect, 
Although  it  must  be. 

Mother  said  that  a  week 
Ago  yesterday,  she  had  gone  for  a  sheet 


142  STOLEN  WATERS. 

Of  note  paper  tc  my  portfolio,  and  saw 

It  was  locked.     But  she  thought  that  perhaps  she  might 

draw 

Home  forth  from  the  leaves  in  between.     So  she  tried, 
And  she  did  ;  but  she  drew  something  else,  too,  beside. 
One  sheet  of  t  i .  -or  copy — I  sent 

Him  tin  j  week  ;  and  which  also  I  meant 

Upstairs  to  have  taken,  and  placed  in  my  desk, 
Ami  did  the  nr.rt  day.      An  envelope  addressed 
To  him  I  have  been  very  careful,  all  through, 
Not  to  keep,  lest  some  person  should  see  it ;  and,  too, 
Whene'er  there  has  been  anything  of  the  kind 
y  portfolio  before,  an\  time, 

pockets  I  always  have  ph.-.-d  it,  and  not 
The  leaves  in  between  ;  but  tliis  time  my  forethought 
Seems  quite  to  have  lei  all  through, 

•nunt'iieed,  :in.[  BOU16  tilings  I  wrote,  too, 

ed  verbatim-  '1     bttn't  forget  you, 
shall  not  forgi  i  uue 

l»ew 

That  I  now  do  in  <•!  saw  that  she  knew 

whole  story,  HI  dis-emMim;  would  be 

..Iso  ini|M.s-iililt\     She 

•••  the  bass-singer,  and 

u    I'll  been  wi;  :   man." 

I  am  ! 

mi  than 

.  we 
•  •  with  earh  uth.  r. 

So  I  must  t.  11  him 
When  1  have  a  good  chance.      1  •!  -n't  like  to  go  in 


STOLEN  WATERS.  143 

To  the  store,  so  must  wait  until  he  comes  out  here. 

And  mo  knowing  when  that  time  will  come,  but  I  fear 

Twill  be  not  very  soon.     .And  I  do  wonder  what 

Will  come  next  ?    "  It  ne'er  rains,  but  it  pours !  "  and  I 

thought 
There  was  truth  in  the  proverb  to-day. 

This  P.M. 
I  wrote  him  a  note ;  1lave  not  sent  it. 

Well,  when 
We  part,  we'll  part  friends.    One  more  meeting,  and  then— 


February  7th,  1864. 

SUNDAY. 

Nothing  very  important  since  here  I  last  wrote. 
Last  Wednesday  A.M.,  there  arrived  a  brief  note 
From  my  friend ;  and  he  spoke  of  the  one  he  received, 
And  he  writes — 

"  Who  it  came  from  I  cannot  conceive! 
Can  you  ?     You  must  see  that  will  render  it,  though, 
Impossible  for  me  at  present  to  go 
Out  to  see  you." 

I  do  wish  that  some  people  would 

Their  own  affairs  mind!     It  would  do  them  more  good, 
And  cause  much  less  trouble.     I  had  not  sent  mine 
That  I  wrote  him  on  Monday,  so  added  a  line, 
And  sent  it  that  day.     And  I  wrote  him  I  thought 
After  reading  the  rest  of  my  letter,  he'd  not 


144  STOLEN  WATERS. 

Have  much  doubt  irbaro  his  came  from,  and  asked  him 

to  send 

It  to  me  for  perusal.     I  told  him  I  then 
Expected  that  something  would  con.e  of  her  call, 
But  thought  iiot  of  that ;  neither  cared  I  at  all, 
if  it  did  not  through  h.-r  n-a.-li  :  And  I  hope 

It  will  not,  for  her  own  sake  ami  his  too.     I  wrote, 
"  I  am  sure  'twas  from  her,  so  you  MV  that  there  wou  d 
Be  no  danger  in  your  coming  up,  if  I  could 
Opportunity  give  to  you  ;  but  I  cum 
Just  at  present.     But  you  seem  to  have  not  a  thought 
That  Pve  aught  at  stake." 

1  wrote  nothing  about 

My  mother's  <h  ni.-s  out, 

I  thought  I  would  w;iit  .-!«•  I  toM  him.      Have  had 
Not  as  yet  any  answer  i  ii  I  half 

morn. 

This  A.M., 

I  of  course  w.  I-.-'M.      II.-  was  then-,  and  again 

Sat  back  \v ,  singers,  a 

jealous  a«  usual.      <  •<•  why 

••  new  singer  came  ;  is  true, 

He  does  nearly  always. 

o-night 

he  chapel  a  Sabbath-school  concert.     Twas  quite 
A  goo<l  one.      II..  WILS  n<.t  of  ,-()  n   ••  fh.-r.-,  hut  "  th*"-  - 
-vjfo — was,  and  sat,  too,  one  seat  back  of  me. 
concert,  her  little  boy  came  to  her  seat ; 

i  ago  complete 

Of  his  father.     He  has  the  saote  eye,  dark  and  deep, 
The  small  mouth,  ]>outing  lips  and  the  same  rounded  cheet 


STOLEN  WATERS.  145 

And,  more  like  him  than  all,  same  expression  of  mild, 
Sweet  good-humor.     And  he  is  a  beautiful  child  1 
And  I  fancy  that  she  thinks  so,  too,  by  the  tone 
Of  fondness  with  which  she  addressed  him.     I  own 
That  she  well  may  be  proud  of  her  fine,  lovely  boy. 
I  wonder  where  lie  was  to-night,  how  employed ! 

The  Sabbath-school  had  a  rehearsal  last  night. 
I  went.     The  choir,  too,  were  rehearsing.     I'd  liked 
To  have  looked  in  a  moment  on  them,  I  confess ; 
But  of  course  I  could  not,  and  was  forced,  to  repress 
All  longings  to  see  my  dear  friend,  'till  t<vday, 
And  then  was  not  quite  satisfied,  I  must  say. 


February  12th,  1864. 

FRIDAY. 

Friday  Eve  !  and  once  more  all  al^ne  in  my  room. 
With  my  journal  before  me,  my  pen  I  resume, 
To  inscribe  on  its  pages  the  passing  events 
Of  the  week  nearly  gone,  of  a  day  of  content, 
Which  also  hastes  fast  to  its  close.     And  I,  too, 
Must  with  brevity  say  all  I'm  wishing  to  do, 

And  seek  my  repose. 

Tuesday  last,  I  believe, 

Froaa  Colonel  Allair  I  a  letter  received, 

And  one  from  my  "friend  "  on  the  following  day. 

fie  writes — 

"  I  have  felt  much  annoyed,  I  mus»  <*j 
Since  receiving  the  note  which  I  spoke  of  to  you, 
In  my  last ;  and  I  cannot  imagine  yet,  who 
7 


146  STOLEN   WATERS. 

Its  author  co  .Id  be.     I  can  scarcely  think,  though, 

called,  as  I  know 

I  never  saw  her  l>oforv ;  but  it  might  be 
Possible,  I  H;;  t  she  may  have  known  me. 

So  vexed  »li<l  I  fed,  then,  that  I  destroyed  it 
At  oner !   but  have  many  tinn-s  wi*hed,  [  admit, 
That  1  would  ha\e  liked  you  to  see 

The  note,  though  'twas  not  MTV  likely  to  be — 
The  handwriting—  fainiT  .     I  can't  free 

My  mind  from  the  thought  that  they're  yet  waiting  foe 
.  t," 

But  /don't  at  all  think  so!  nor 
Have  I  any  doubt  where  it  came  from,  as  I 
Said  before,  three  or  four  days  ago;  or  that  my 
Visitor  and  his  new  correspondent  are  one. 

My  sister  has  been  wishing  mother  to  come 
i  see  her,  for  some  time,  and  whim  she  went  home 
iaed  to  do  so.  Inewluy  received 

A  Mimmons  to  come  on  inn. 

y  sister  was  ill.     So  she  1<  ft  us  this  morn, 
And  thn-e  or  four  wr<  i.  ,.,o,  will  be  gone. 

I  sent  Inn 

An'!  :  was  going  away, 

i.skod  him  if  h«-  w,ml-l  <  this  P.M. 

1  lialf-piust  two,  when 

'  I  taken  a  book 

A ud  been  reading  Rorar  hancing  to  loo* 

Out  thn  \\  i.s  just  passing  by. 

My  book  was  thro^a  down  in  an  instant,  and  I 
•it  door  to  admit  him. 

He  said  what  I  wrote 
Atwnt  •omiaf  up  U-«Uj,  a*  did  not  neU, 


STOLEN  WATSltS. 

Until  two  o'clock.     That  my  letter  he  then 

Had  just  taken  out  to  look  over  again, 

And  as  soon  as  he  saw  that  he  came  right  away 

I  wrote  him  in  pencil,  and  that  was  in  a 

"  P.  S.,"  I  believe,  why  he  did  not  see  it. 

I  told  him  about  mamma,  and  I  admit 
He  took  it  quite  coolly,  seemed  vexed  not  one  bit, 
But  laughingly  asked  why  I  did  not  permit 
Her  still  to  think  it  was  the  bass-singer  ! 

I 

Enquired  the  first  time  he  was  here,  by  the  by, 
Where  my  letters  he  kept,  and  he  told  me  within 
A  drawer  in  his  desk ;  and  to-day  I  asked  him 
If  its  contents  he  brought,  and  he  said,  no ;  that  he 
Could  not  get  to  them,  as  he  had  broken  the  key. 
But  so  roguishly  I  could  but  know  he  was  not 
The  truth  telling  me,  and  that  he  could  have  got 
Them,  had  he  desired  to.     I  coaxed  him  to  bring 
Them  out  the  next  time  that  he  came,  but  a  thing 
Satisfactory  I  could  not  get  in  reply, 
Or  nothing,  at  least,  on  which  I  could  rely. 
I  told  him  I  knew  he  would  ne'er  have  the  time 
For  "reading  them  backwards!" 

While  teasing  for  a 

He  said  not  one  word  of  my  giving  back  his. 
If  he  had,  I  should  not.     Had  he  told  me,  "  That  is 
The  condition  alone  on  which  I'll  return  yours," 
I  should  said  not  another  word  of  it,  I'm  sure. 
1  can't  give  them  up,  come  what  may  1     So  I  toaaed, 
And  coaxed,  and  persuaded,  ar>d  he  at  his  ease, 
Leaning  back  in  his  chair,  laughed  in  answer,  or  gave 
Sometimes  a  caress  for  reply,  or  else  made 


14t  STOLEN  WATERS. 

Unto  each  argument  some  objection ;  at  length, 
He  said — and  his  tone  changed  to  ice — he  would  send 
Them,  certainly,  if  I  insisted  on  it. 
But  that  ho  had  not  all  of  them,  he'd  admit ; 
When  they  were  about  him  sometimes,  he  had  been 
Obliged  to  destroy  them,  lest  they  should  be  seen. 
He  thought  he  would  come  out  next  Tuesday  again. 
From  school  Gertie  came  ere  he  left  me,  but  went 
Right  downstairs ;  then  he  bade  me  good-by. 

Well,  we  «pen; 

An  afternoon  pleasant  indeed  ;  or  at  least 
To  me.     He  is  splendid,  I  think,  and  was  pleased 
ith  him. 

But  I  must  not 

Write  more  at  this  time.     To  my  "friend"  many  thought! 
I  am  tending  to-night,  and  with  fund  wishes  fraught. 


February  1 4th,  1864. 

BUKDAT. 

Quite  a  nice,  pleasant  day  this  has  been,  and  I  come, 
At  its  close,  t. .  iind  I  have  some 

New  :-n:il,  to  trll  you.     Last  night  we  received 

"gram,  KU\  ii,_r  th<-  j>i<  vious  ove 
Mamma  sit;  urived — 

Fannie'a  husband  it  came  from     and  that  his  dear  wife 
H«<1  a  very  fine  boy  born  that  niurn. 

Gertie  went 
To  Tarrytown  yesterday  ;  1  uik  tent 


STOLEN  WATERS.  US 

For  father  and  I  to  dine  with  him  to-day. 

So  we  went  after  church,     Passed  his  house  on  the  waj 

When  we  first  came  in  sight,  he  was  standing  between 

The  windows,  but  then  he — I  think,  having  seen 

Us  coming — sat  down  with  a  paper  to  read ! 

So  I  saw  him  distinctly.     And  he  is,  indeed, 

A  darling,  I  think  ;  and  was  charming  to-night ! 

But  he  sat  with  the  singers.     The  "  corner  "  is  quite 

Deserted  of  late.     Well !  there  is,  I  suppose, 

More  attraction  elsewhere  than  that  offers ;  who  knows  ? 


February  28^,  1864. 
SUNDAY. 

"  I'm  homesick,  and  heartsick,  and  weary  of  life !  w 
Its  pleasures,  its  follies,  its  turmoil,  its  strife  ! 
I  am  weary  of  all  that  I've  tasted  below, 
I  am  weary  of  friend,  and  I'm  weary  of  foe. 
And  friends  (?),  what  are  they?     When  joy  brighten*  out 

skies, 

They  flutter  around  us  like  gay  butterflies, 
Display  their  bright  colors,  their  rainbow-hued  wings. 
Ah  !  they're  happy,  and  joyous,  and  beautiful  things  I 
But  touch  their  bright  spots  and  their  beauty  is  gone. 
They  spread  their  frail  wings,  and  then  soon  flutter  on. 
Yes  !  when  sorrow's  dark  clouds  have  our  heavens  o'ercart 
We  find,  all  too  soon,  their  rich  hues  will  not  last. 
On  a  frail  "  broken  reed  "  we've  been  placing  our  trust, 
Our  friends  are  all  false,  and  their  vows  nought  but  dust. 


130  STOLEN   WATER& 


**  Prosperity  win*  <uem,  adversity  tries," 

They're  ours  while  th*  sun  shines,  -when  shade  cornea  thai 

fly. 

"  I'm  homeaick\  and  heartsick,  and  weary  of  life!  n 
Its  ^deargKLcnjojTiientjwith  poison  is_ri  l'«  •  . 
Enjoyment  ?  what  is  it,  and  where  to  be  found,? 
In  fashion's  gay  haunts  when-  mirth  -  ibound,? 

Ahf  no  1     IB  not  there  beneath  all  this  glitter 

arts  that  are  aching—  less  thai 

bitter? 
Borne  one  has  said  that  "Home,  Mother,  and  Heaven 

hree  sweetest  words  to  our  hearts  ever  gh 
ie?     Do  wo  not  find  in  each  household  band 
Bom  ill  vibrate,  if  swept  by  rude  hand  ? 

A  circle  eYr  find  but  <>  one's  there, 

i  fireside,  hut  has  one  vacant  chair? 

Though  h»-r  lo\r  is  as  deep  as  'tis  pun-, 
Seek  we  not  fur  "Ugh  find  none  that's  truer. 

Mem  s  us  to  counsels  we've  slighted, 

yrs  dimmed  by  tears  that  sweet  smiles  should  h»vi 
lighted. 

uce  is  bitter  if  the  fruit  is  sweet  !  " 
The  way's  long  and  dreary,  the  thorns  pierce  our  foet, 

•  •  reward, 
in  the  Lord. 
iiesick,  and  h-  md  weary  of  life!" 

ves  1  weary  of  life. 

!   oh,  how  fragile,  how  1  .1  flower! 

n>  not  all  of  UH  KW.  <  j>ower? 

i  one  fleeting  day, 
We  f  ,-ino  'twill  no\*i  fad«  away. 


STOLEN    WATERS,  151 

But  too  soon  we  awake  from  the  sweet,  blissful  dream, 
To  find  hearts  are  faithless,  love  not  wLat  it  soems. 
Friendship  ?     'Tis  an  empty,  a  meaningless  word  ; 
'Tis  fraught  with  heart- achings,  with  sighs  breathed   a* 

heard. 

True  'tis  to  you  when  there  is  aught  to  be  gsrined ; 
When  needed  most,  leaves  your  fond  hearts  to  be  pained 
By  its  fickleness,  untruth,  and  heartless  disdain ; 
To  find  your  hopes  blighted,  your  faith  all  in  vain. 
Life  !  what  is  that  ?     Ask  the  poet  or  painter, 
Ask  him  whose  weak  voice  with  age  daily  grows  fainter. 
The  poet  in  eloquent  verse  will  portray 
Its  joys  and  its  sorrows,  smooth  paths  and  rough  ways. 
The  artist  will  paint  you  with  light  here,  there  shade, 
A  cradle — an  altar — a  grave  newly  made. 
The  old  man  will  say  'tis  a  meteor  bright, 
One  moment  'tis  noonday,  the  next  it  is  night. 
"  I'm  homesick,  and  heartsick,  and  weary  of  life  I  " 
There's  nothing  but  bitterness,  nothing  but  strife  I 
Bickerings  without,  and  temptations  within, 
Smiles  battling  with  tears,  and  purity  with  sin. 
Hopes  are  crushed  at  one  blow,  and  true  hearts  ar*  b« 

trayed, 

Love's  Eden  is  entered,  home  desolate  made. 
Dishonor  is  stamped  upon  many  a  blow, 
Disgrace  hangs  o'er  those  that  were  happy  but  now ; 
The  death  angel  dark  hovers  o'er  our  bright  land, 
Touching  uere  one,  and  there  one,  with  his  icy  hand, 
Gathering  around  him  his  mantle  of  gloom, 
Only  to  drop  it  o'er  some  lonely  tomb. 
War  o'er  our  country  spreads  its  cleso  ation, 
Brother  'gainvt  brother,  and  nation  'gainst  naticti, 


152  8TCLEN  WATE18. 

Pure  ~  with  hearts'  blood,  fielis  red  uid  goij 
Lives  •  -lory. 

Deep  >  dreary, 

rni  homesick,  k,  of  life  I  am  weary. 

1 1  has  been  a  long  time  since  I've  written  in  here. 
Two  weeks !  that  in  passing,  have  seemed  long  and  drear. 

weeks,  which  have  brought  in  their  flitting  to  me, 
A  f'W  gleams  of  joy,  but  much  more  mi» 
For  writing  no  heart  I  have  hud,  or  for  ui: 
Else  beside  where  was  requisite  mu. -!i  composed  thought ; 
And  to-day  I  so  restless  have  been  all  the  time, 

.ise  my  mind, 

k  for  a  short  ;  :.al,  with  you, 

And  something  U'll  YOU  of  tli«-  ;M  t  week  or  two; 
The  record's  too  huinilia  juite 

Too  •  to  write. 

'    MIC, 

•1  I  sec 

I  uesdajr — but  whoa 

i  ;.  -i.      Tin1  n 
Day  was  n  .|>cct 

r  i.e.  woek  was,  u!0i  nigh 

.;•!  not  ku  >\> 
•iuson  be  why 

Onco  or  twit-.-  I  );ty  after  day 

I  v«^<  i — alway 

To  >>»  1  no  one  can  know 
How    ratleM,  unlr  »w  slow 


STOLEN  WATERS.  151 

Dragged  oach  wearisome  hour.    In  that  way  the  week  passed 

With  no  tidings  whatever  ;  and  Sabbath  at  last 

Arrived,  and  I  went  out  to  church.     He  was  there, 

A.S  uimal ;  but  I,  feeling  too  vexed  to  care 

To  Bee  him,  my  eyes  kept  averted,  nor  met 

His  own  scarcely  once.     For  I  could  not  forget 

How  unkind  he  had  been.     There  may  have,  I  concede, 

Been  something  his  coming  to  hinder,  indeed ; 

He  might,  though,  have  written,  and  not  have  keot  me 

In  constant  suspense  the  whole  week.     Or  if  he 

Did  not  wish  to  come  up  here  why  could  not  he  say  so  ? 

I'd  like  it  much  better  than  that  he  should  play  so 

With  my  feelings  and  wishes. 

My  father  went  out 

To  my  brother's  to  dine  that  day,  but  'twas 'about 
All  that  I  could  do  home  to  remain;  and  I  knew 
I  could  not  be  sociable  if  I  tried  to. 
So  I  thought  that  the  best  place  for  me  was  at  home, 
And  I  spent  the  whole  day  between  service  alone. 
Well !  the  next  day — on  Monday — I  sent  him  a  note 
Which  was  one  piece  of  sarcasm  all  through ;  and  wro<^ 
Him  without  fail  to  come  up  the  next  day  and  bring 
My  letters,  and  I'd  nevermore  say  a  thing 
About  his  again  coming  up.     Tuesday,  I 
Was  looking  for  him,  and  I  saw  passing  by 
A  boy,  with  a  book  in  his  hand,  and  addressed 
To  some  one  :  I  saw  one  initial,  the  rest 
His  hand  hid.     He  went  on  to  the  end  of  the  row. 
Made  inquiries,  came  back,  rang  cur  bell,  then,  and  BO 
Of  course  I  suspected  that  it  vas  for  me — 
The  book  in  his  hand — and  it  thus  proved  to  be. 
7* 


164  <)LEN  WATERS. 

No  message  he  gave  me,  but  when  I  removed 
The  wrapper,  I  found  a  scale  1  note,  and  which  Droved 
To  bo  wri  iiu.     There  were  also  with  this 

A  dozen  or  so  of  my  letters.     "\\Y11,  his 
T  opened  at  once.     Commenced 
*M;  t:" 

"  I  was  gone  out  of  town  nearly  all  of  la.st  week 
Bat  your  letter  1  been  received.     All  I  find 

Is  '  those  letters  I  wan'  !  '     I  told  you,  the  last  time 
That  I  saw  you,  I  Ind  not  tln-m  all ;  and  you  say 
aing  me  mine,  by  the  way. 
And  now  as  the  letters  th<-  uppermost  thing 
In  y<n  <-ems  to  !>•  .  I  n     :m  half — will  \< 

Or  s-  !  receive. 

•  i  no  more  th;m  Gur.     And  you  said,  I  believe, 

;..)ii  still  li  all  ;  and  if  y.ni  r.'turn  them 

You  shall  i  .•!,  and  you  then 

DO  will  havo  on  your  mind. 
So  busy  am  I  • 

To  go  up  town  to-day,  ev.  n  if  I  dared  to. 

iste. 

"  Antony." 

Whon  I  tins  had  read  through, 
Tlie  first  tiling  I  did  was  to  sit  down  and  write 

An  answ  !,  ]  in.ti'.-d  tlm  same  night. 

1 

Weroofa::  to  '"•  l>urue<L 

I  wrot'  ,-ud  him  li.i.-L  his, 

'f  I  t".  ir»,  that  itt 

The  e:,  . 

In  hii  anr«rer  which  I  r«v«-i\.-d  Tli  irwlay      And  that 


STOLEN  WATERS.  151 

It  was  his  intention  to  say  many  things, 

But  was  feeling,  that  day,  so  unwell,  could  n.  t  brmg 

His  mind  to  the  subject ;  that  also  must  be 

The  excuse  for  bis  brevity. 

I  cannot  see 

What  ails  him,  I'm  sure !     There  is  something,  but  vr  hat, 
I  cannot  conceive.     I  am  certain  'tis  not 
Anything  ./have  done.     He  is  fretting  about 
The  anonymous  letter — -"mamma's  finding  out 
About  our  correspondence — I  think  there's  no  doubt 
It  is  one  or  the  other,  or  something  that  I 
Yet  know  nothing  about.     In  his  answer  to  my 
Reply  to  this  letter,  he  writes — 

"  I  received 

Yours  this  morning,  and.  I  can  but  say,  I  believe, 
That  nothing  at  all  you  have  said  angered  me, 
Though  I  did  hardly  fair,  indeed,  think  it,  to  be 
Compromised  by  your  making  acknowledgments  that 
I  was  your  correspondent ;  as  I  could,  in  fact, 
Not  see  the  necessity." 

I,  in  reply, 

Wrote,  I  thought  that  if  one  certain  lady,  whom  I 
Could  mention,  a  similar  question  of  him 
Had  asked,  that  mamma  did  of  me,  he  would,  in 
His  looks,  if  he  did  not  in  words,  the  whole  thing 
Have  acknowledged  as  well. 

In  the  same  he  again 
Writes— 

"  I  cannot  your  wish  understand,  that  as  friends 
We  should  part.     Surely  1  I  at  least  trust  there'll  be  ni  ighf 
But  the  most  kindly  feelings  between  us,  or  thoughts ; 


156  STOLEN   WATERS. 

As  Fve,  1  assure  you,  no  others  to  you. 

His  1  kind  and  pleasant  all  through, 

it  some  length  was  written.     He  says  neat  the 

(  I  can  come  up,  uiy  friend, 
is  so  mix.-d  ;'  some  I  cannot  explain 
At  ]  'id  had,  perhaps,  better  remain 

I  juu.'" 

But  aa  to  what  it  can  be, 
Of  course,  I  have  not  the  remotest  idea. 
That  was  writt*  .  ,1  yesterday. 

II  b  with  i  .as  usual,  to-day, 

y  hairLnine.      \\Y11!    1   U'lieve  th»t 
IH  ull,  and  I'm  t»o  tired  t»  writ"  more,  in  fact. 


cA  9«A,  1864. 

WEDNESDAY. 

The  first  !i  succeeded  my  lad 

Reoo!  ,.sed. 

r  started  eve 

i  ing  man  i! 

.  him  good 

tt  was  a  v:  uyt 

m  II,  I  must  «ay. 

went 

!  on  and  sent 

A  note  t  • .  d  as  an  answer  to  one 

I  that  morning  ;  and  I  wrote  he  could  come, 


STOLEN  WATERS.  167 

Or  not,  as  he  pleased — he  could  write  me  again, 

If  he  liked,  or  he  need  not — that  'twas  to  me,  then^ 

A.  matter  of  perfect  indifference ;  that 

If  he  suited  himself  I  was  suited.     In  fact, 

My  letter  was  not  cross  but  weary,  as  I 

Was  myself.     I  have  often,  of  late,  by  the  by, 

In  my  mind  had  a  poem  I  sometime  ago 

Was  reading — the  author  of  it  I  don't  know — 

Which  commenced,  "  We  are  so  tired,  my  poor  heart  ar.d  1 1  * 

On  Sunday  A.M.  it  was  cloudy,  and  my 
Sister  made  every  effort  she  could  to  induce 
Me  not  to  go  home ;  but  'twas  not  any  use ; 
Go  I  would,  and  I  did,  and  was  very  glad,  too, 
That  I  had,  for  he  sat  in  the  front  nearly  through 
The  sermon,  and  then  in  the  corner  ;  and  I 
Could  not  fail  to  perceive  the  soft  light  in  hia  eye 
Bent  so  constantly  on  me.     And  I  could  almost 
Have  fancied  the  last  weeks  a  dream,  as  a  host 
Of  sweet  feelings  then  surged  through  my  heart.    I  went  hoia« 
For  my  letters,  and  then  back  to  T. ;  and  I  own, 
Though  it  rained,  I  got  wet — as  I'd  taken  that  morn 
The  open  carriage — I  was  glad  I  had  gone, 
And  am  still. 

Brother  Frank  and  his  wife  went  last  night 
[n  town  to  see  Forrest ;  and  so  I  was  quite 
Alone  with  the  children  and  servants.     I  read 
Moore  and  Shakspeare  'till  weary,  and  then  deci'led 
To  pencil  a  few  farewell  lines  to  my  "friend." 
But  wrote  rather  briefly,  it  being  late  then. 
I  came  home  to-day,  and  a  letter  received, 
Saying  mother  and  father  world  be  home  thin  eve. 
Ihey  caine  about  six. 


168  .V   WATERS. 

And  so  this  is  the  end ! 
l\ic  flirtation  is  over,  and  we  aro  again 
Merely  strangers  !     And  yet,  I  can  ne'er  feel  the 
Toward  him  that  1  did  before  it  we  began. 
And  I  feel  assured  also,  he,  too,  never  can 
Forget  it  or  me.     Looking  back  now,  it  seems, 
The  three  months  just  passed,  much  more  like  a  long  dreau 
Than  it  does  reality.     It  was  to  me, 
SOLU  ;'  it,  pleasant ;  yet  -Tcan  but  be 

Most  heartily  jjlsid  it  is  over,  and  do 
Not  doubt  but  it  is  a  relief  to  him,  too. 

holu  correspondence  has  been,  in  some  tilings, 
The  most  mortifying,  humiliating, 
Of  any  I  over  have  1>.  en  engaged  in. 

I  think  that  from  it  I  a  lesson  have  learned, 
w  leaves  of  the  past  could  l>e  turned, 
And  I  could  begin  it  a  »uld  be 

On  n  |uite  differently. 

The  truth  to  confess,  I  am  of  it  ashamed ! 

tave  thought  him  to  blame, 
i  I  have  been  mostly  in  fault.     \\V  i..iv.-  not 
Each  other,  somehow,  understood.     J  havo  thought 

,  very  likely,  when  he 
Was  i)  l--d  to  be. 

Bui,  he'«  so  much  influence  1  mo, 

us  gracefully, 
•  iiKtantly  htru^lin  | 
Have  wounde'i  i.,i-,\  times,  I  can  sec. 

;,  that  he  meant 
;n  in  suspense 

Bo  long  at  the  first.      If  that  was  his  intrnt, 
Ha  luu  had  bis  r«v«ng*  1 


STOLEN  WATERS. 

And  so,  this  page  ends 
My  journal,  or  this  volume  of  it,  at  least. 
For  my  book  is  quite  filled,  and  this  day  must  complete 
The  record  of  so  many  unhappy  houi-s, 
A.nd  a  few  most  exquisitely  happy  ones !    "  Flowers 
By  the  wayside  !  "    And  though  springing  up  among 
Blooming  freshly  and  sweet,  amid  sunshine  or  skrms. 
Some  time  a  new  journal  I  trust  to  begin  ! 
May  it  be  much  more  peaceful  than  this  one  has  been. 
Farewell  to  this  volume,  to  days  bright  and  dreary  1 
"  Rest  is  sweet  after  strife ;  I  would  sleep ;  I  am  weary   ' 


STOLEN    WATERS. 


PART   SECOND. 


•Ha  tossed  me  bitterness,  and  called  It  sweet  1J* 


3.  O.  HOLLAJOU 


*  What  was  love,  then  T  not  calm,  not  secure,  scarcely  kind  ; 
But  in  one,  all  intensest  emotion  combined : 
life  and  death :  pain  and  rapture :  the  iuuniue  sense 
Of  Mouthing  immortal,  unknown,  and  immense  I " 


OWED  MKKBDITH 


STOLEN 


$Jart    Seconb. 


NEW  YORK. 


April  2tth,  1864. 

SUNDAY. 

To  my  new  Journal,  greeting  1     Once  more  I  resume 
Book  and  pen  with  my  own  wayward  heart  to  commune. 
I  seek,  once  again,  a  companionship  I 
Have  most  sadly  missed  in  the  weeks  now  gone  by, 
Since  turning  away  from  the  record,  which  had 
Been  both  bitter  and  sweet,  and  both  joyous  and  sad, 
Closed  my  book  upon  the  irrevocable  past, 
And  bent  heart  and  will  to  the  yet  fruitless  task 
Of  learning  forgetfulness.     Lessons,  I  find, 
Which  no  force  of  will,  and  no  purpose  of  mind 
Han  make  me  achieve. 

"  The  grief  which  doth  not  speak, 
Whispers  the  o'er-fraught  heart,  and  bid*  it  break  !  " 


104  STO/./;.V  ir.t/v 

:i  but  uri  .(  ha\e  some  outlet  !      Is'o  heart 
But  i  -nt,  <>r  but  long's  to  impart 

Its  so:  i  jo\s  unto  some  f.-.ithful  friend. 

\uu.  lav  d'-ar  .lo'irnal,  I  turn  once  a^ain  ! 

•hfu!  than  you,  none  more  trusty  and  tint 

idenoe  where  it  is  duo, 

iiji  .ill   llie  nou  i 

in-art,  \ull  In-ill^  each  tiny  .-. 
.  i\fii  by   i/iinr  silent  loom, 
In-,.  ilon  o!'  brightness  or  gloom. 


Tli<-  M  bidding 

.mine,  have  not,  it  is  true, 

\     i  :     ther  have  they 

r..juil  or  h:i|>|'-.  .        I' 

•i     .id, 

.'       i.  1 

phice, 

. 

i 

•II    \vhi.-i:  .  ' 

Till  iili  will 

HJIH  conit^  oiF  victorious,  .,i.d  ..;i\.-a  to  L'I  ief 

Hi  escape  —  air'  in  « 

here    I  A\Tv*t««   !:wft, 
of  the    |,  >«t, 

icae  dreary  weeks  to  a  nick-  1  lined 

.is  been,  -  .  iu  u  tumult  of  mind 


8TOLEN   WATERS.  165 

Indescribable  quite— first,  of  ignortmce,  doubt, 
Fiioji  knowledge,  anxiety,  have  been  about 
As  restless,  unhappy  as  1  could  well  be. 
A  n J  in  the  meantime,  has  he  gi  ven  to  me, 
f  render,  one  thought  ?     Or  already  have  I 
Dropped  out  of  his  life  with  completeness,  no  sigh 
Of  regret  for  the  past,  for  tin  future  no  hope! 

The  six  weeks  to  me  have  passed  by  very  slow. 
For  nearly  a  month  he  had  been  ill,  before 
1  knew  what  detained  him  from  service.     Two  more 
Sabbaths  since  then  have  gone.    When  last  week  I  weiit  o  tl 
"  Site  "  was  there,  and  I  fancied  knew  something  about 
Our  acquaintance,  she  then  looked  so  queerly  at  me. 
[  presume  'twas  all  fancy,  though !     By  the  way,  he 
This  winter  is  wearing  an  overcoat  light, 
And  during  the  service  it  hangs  just  in  sight 
In  the  "  corner."     The  first  thing  I  noticed  to-day, 

When  I  went  in,  was  Mrs. ,  his  wife — and  away 

From  her  face  to  the  "  corner"  I  glanced  ;  and  saw  there 
A  light  overcoat,  yet  even  then  did  not  dare 
Hardly  think  it  was  his,  fearing  still  I  should  be 
Disappointed.     But  when  they  began  to  sing,  he 
Stood  before  me  as  handsome  as  ever,  although 
Looking  so  pale  and  thin ;  and  a  glad  light,  I  know, 
Filled  my  eyes,  as  I  could  not,  indeed,  fail  to  see 
That  when  he  came  out  his  first  glanc;-  was  for  me. 
How  happy  it  made  me  to  see  him  again ! 
And  so,  my  dear  Journal, you  see  that  his  chain 
Is  still  round  my  neck,  and  the  clasp  he  yet  holds, 
But  chains  always  chafe,  although  made  of  fine  go'  ? 


166  STOLEN  WATERS. 

May  1st,  1864. 

SUNDAY. 

Again  I'm  in  n.u.-h  tribulation!     This  week 
Father  changes  his  business  to  Brooklyn.     He  spe*k« 

v>v  uiv  until  fall, 

:i  In-  jjct.s  tli.Tc  In -'11  s.>on  want  us  alL 
And  ho\\  uk  of  it  ?      Ho\v  run  I  go 

A.nd  i  M  my  own?  "     1  shall  never,  I  know. 

II  ! 

i-huivh  went  to-day ; 
•  ••IK I  1  mn.<  i,  1  must  say, 

•lit.-  like 
His  dear  self.      No  uoert  to-night. 

May  8th,  18G4. 

Wi-1! 

Icju 

;  "f  mini-  '  hat, 

Of  which  we  so  ram  i  \   ln-f-n-  : 
I  §OBi  iiiywlf  now  to  h«-l: 

1 

•  so  many  hours  I  have  pax*. 
60  happy  and  .it  last; 

Uoun  of  nadur»sH,  as  wll,  which  could  not  fly  UK>  UMM 


b'LOLEN  WATERS. 

That  I  mils*  bid  adieu  to  this  dear  little  room, 

With  associations  of  both  sunshine  and  gloom 

80  brimful ;  where  so  many  castles  I've  built. 

Borne  have  melted  in  air,  some  have  been  all  fulfilled  \ 

My  last  Sabbath  here  has  as  usual  been  spent, 

And  is  now  nearly  ended.     This  morning  I  went 

To  church,  and  the  first  thing  I  saw  was  a  dark 

Overcoat,  which  was  hung  in  the  "  corner."     My  heart 

Sank  sev'ral  degrees.     Soon  the  bass-singer  came 

To  the  front  with  a  gentleman  ;  both  I  saw  plain. 

And  thought,  "  Well !  it  seems  we  are  having  this 

A  new  tenor,  or  organist !  "    And,  although  down 

At  my  seat  he  kept  constantly  glancing,  while  he 

Stood  talking,  I  never  once  thought  it  could  be 

My  Antony  dearest !  and  not  until  they 

Were  commencing  to  sing  did  I  know  him.     The  way 

Of  it  was,  since  the  last  Sabbath  he's  taken  off 

His  beard,  leaving  only  his  mustache,  so  soft 

And  drooping.     It  made  in  his  looks  such  a  change, 

So  distinct  and  decided,  'twas  not  very  strange 

That  I  did  not  know  him,  e'en  though  his  dear  face 

Is  so  sweetly  familiar,  and  in  it  I've  traced 

Each  passing  emotion  so  many  a  time. 

He  looks  yotinger  and  handsomer  ;  yet,  Journal  imn<b. 

I  must  own  that  I  do  scarcely  like  him  so  well ; 

It  makes  him  soem  almost  a  stranger;  the  spell 

Of  his  presence  has  something  of  newness  in  if., 

And  seamed  desecrating  the  past,  1  admit  ! 

We  iutrnd  to  retain,  for  the  present,  our  pew. 

When  I  write  here  again,  I  suppose  in  my  new 

But  less  dearly  loved  home  I  shall  be.     So  adieu 

To  the  memory  of  hopes,  disappointed  ones  too, 


1'^  STOLEN  WATERS. 

VVhiiL  fluster  within  this  dear  room;  ami  a  last 
Hn^erin^  farewell  to  its  dream*  of  the  past  ! 


BllOOKLYN. 


',  1S64. 


Two  week*  since  my  l:i-t  writing!      hi  my  new  home 
111  :  num."  mire  more    i    come 

:.-uf  ..f  my  life  in  ! 

•  li  ;   il    !•  n.k''il 

m.  :ui<l   [  WAS  not  <  I  '•  i:   io-«l:iv 

We  ull  of  us  went.  ;ui'l   I   ih 

s  i  ilnl  n.  •!    como  ii.>me  • 

lllOUl^ll. 

i   we  li  i<l  .  ,'ot   tin  c.ii^h 

<  >n  my 
To  h-  .    '  lit  ; 

Bond 

Both  con  l>o')k  th'  •     kereotti 

T  ki  ,  •  ;    l,.ii  .nig 

lachun-li.  i  i 

Wan  taking  her  s.-nt,  n  .  .n-.ls  me 


STOLEN  WATERS.  169 

His  dear  face,  with  a  smile  most  impassioned  ind  sweet , 

And  my  cheek  slightly  flushed,  and  my  foolish  heart  beat 

Just  the  least  trifle  faster,  I  own  ;  it  did  seem 

So  strange,  to  see  him  sit  downstairs  !     And  I  deem 

ft  a  pleasant  coincidence  our  seats  shoiild  be 

So  near  to  each  other.     Presume,  though,  that  he 

Will  not  be  at  church  half  the  time,  now  he  sings 

No  more  in  the  choir.     "  There  comes  ever  something 

Between  us  and  what  we  our  happiness  deem." 

I  s | all  now  see  my  friend  only  rarely,  I  ween! 


October  2d,  1864. 

SUNDAY. 

Four  wearisome  months  have  flown  tardily  past, 
Since  I  opened  this  book,  and  made  in  it  my  last 
Brief  record.     And  though  there  has,  in  the  mean  ti?-i* 
Been  events  of  slight  import  to  me  and  to  mine, 
[  have  not  been  desirous  of  writing  them  down ; 
Had  no  wish  to  commune  with  a  heart  I  have  found 
More  rebellious,  and  more  uncontrollable  too, 
Then  I  care  to  acknowledge,  now,  even  to  you, 
My  Journal  and  confidante. 

All  summer  long 

We  have  had  visitors,  and  the  last  are  just  gone. 
My  father  went  out  West  some  three  months  ago, 
Returning  last  week.     As  for  me,  you  must  know 
IVe  been  doing  my  best  to  attempt  to  forget 

friends  of  the  past,  but  whose  influence  yet 
8 


170  :/2& 

IH  f'-lt  iu  my  heart.     And  my  ciiorts  have  been 
Of  but  little,  avail ;  and  uow,  down  deep  within 
i  forced  to  acknowledge  a  fact 

•  \cring;   one.  also,  that 
I  would  now  fain  ignore;  aud  a  truth,  that  to  no* 

full  of  I.:  _'l  i<-f,  mi 

humiliation,  it  docs  seem,  a:  times, 
A.S  if  I  could  hardly  ciidure  it.      Ifow  blind 
I  hav«-  1.     :i  !    but  my  •  idc  ojMJll  at  last; 

.   know,  and  lii/l'-rli/  know,  why  the  past 
11  Mibly  MI  my  heart; 

jMrt 

:    and  wherein 

',  which  has  bound  me  so  Mnni^ly  to  him; 

\Vliv    !  k  tin-  ciichantin.'ut,  and  feel 

unot  conceal 
;  •  he  thrall 

i  ni"  is  tliis  :  That,  with  all 
d--|.th  of  m\   nature,  1  love 
//  r  above 

,  iu  mv  h  1  that  no 

Separ  .  r  coolnens,  ultliou<n'h 

Id  ohaugr. 

•  degree  to  estrange 
••  him.       I  r  866 

1  he 
r  thought  i^ivo  to  ine; 

my  own! 
I  peace,  have  all  flown 

unwelcome  g' 
Which  I  fciu  would  exclude.     For,  it  must  bo  confessed. 


STOLEN  WAI  ma.  171 

The  knowledge  is  not  very  grateful  and  sweet, 

Nor  does  it  afford  to  me  happiness  deep. 

Can  it  be,  though,  that  I,  independent  and  proud, 

I,  who,  more  than" once,  scornfully  have  avowed 

I  could  think  naught  of  one  who  did  not  care  for  IE  e, 

And  imagined  that  I  was  "heart-whole,  fancy-free  '  — 

Zam  forced  to  confess,  that  not  only  unsought, 

Unreturned,  I  have  loved,  but — the  most  bitter  thought 

Of  all  others,  where  none  with  much  sweetness  are  fraughfv- 

I  have  in  my  heart  shrined  the  face  of  a  man 

Who  is  bound  to  another,  and  who  never  can 

Anything  be  to  me.     God  forgive  me,  I  pray, 

And  pity  me,  too  ! 

In  the  weeks  passed  away 

Since  herein  I  wrote  last,  I've  a  new  method  tried 
To  make  me  forget.     A  flirtation,  that  vied 
With  the  last  one  in  nothing ;  and  was,  on  my  side , 
Carried  on  with  such  weary  indifference,  it 
Could  me  not  much  pleasure  afford,  I  admit. 
I  hoped  to  forget,  in  another's  fond  smile, 
One  whose  sweetness  had  done,  oh  !  so  nmch  to  beguile 
My  heart  from  its  peace.     But  the  man  vas  not  o:ie 
[  could  ever  care  much  for  !  and  now  it  is  clone — 
The  flirtation — and  all  there  is  left  is  a  few 
Fond  letters,  well-written  and  kind,  it  is  true, 
And  a  photograph.     With  not  a  thought  of  regret, 
I  have  laid  them  away. 

Many  letters  I  yet 

From  Colonel  Aliair  am  receiving.     He  writes 
Notes  most  pleasing  and  tine  ;  and  he  says  he  ia  quite 
Capiivttied  by  our  correspondence  ;  and  ne'er 
Will  forget  me,  he  knows !     Well !  perhaps  not ;  if  e'ei 


172  V   WATERS. 

Il  •  is  ti id),  w,>  .shall  see!     But  we  always  agree, 
it  in  the  1  V*  ho  hopes  to  see  me 

his  tim>-  'i.-cdp 

And  he'll  D  bo  home.      I  ea-i't  say  I've  desired 

To  H  ;.-h,  :iu<l  presume 

his  mind  about  coming  so  soon 

I  have  been 

To  church  frequently,  but  ha\  him. 

One  uiorn,  I  remember,  wht-u  Ljoin^  up  town, 
J.  saw  him  nn  a  car  tliat  passed  by,  coming  down. 

.t  one  passing  glim[  me  feell 

'i_-ii:  tingo  of  sadness  begiui  soon  to  steal 

'.i arm  Wiis  rev; 

{S  for  wliat   was  drilled. 

•  uld  sec  him, 
But  hup'  '1  tliat  to  clniK-li  my  dear  fi  lend  would  have  beoB 

;--h  iioti--.-  uothiiiLT, 

less  glance.     And  he  went 
.ihe;id  cf  me,  talking  intent 

i    -.  d  by 

i ;   but  I 

i,  just  a.H  if  h<«  wjm  n  >t 
llj  Antony  dearoHt!  atd  in  all  my  tliou^Ula. 


STOLEN  WATERb.  t 

October  30th,  1864. 

SUNDAY. 

Was  in  town  yesterday,  and  went  into  his  store 
I  have  not  for  a  long  time  been  in  there  before. 
I  did  not  inquire  for  him,  purchased  a  book, 
And  while  I  was  doing  so  he  came  to  look 
For  something  near  where  I  was  standing,  and  asked 
His  partner  some  question  about  it,  then  passed 
Back,  returning  a  moment  thereafter,  and  stood 
By  the  counter,  where  when  I  should  pass  out  I  could 
But  see  him.     I  sometimes  have  thought  that  he  wouM 
Ne'er  again  speak  to  me  ;  I  have  so  many  times 
Decidedly  cut  him ;  but  he  was  as  kind, 
Yesterday,  in  his  manner  as  ever  ;  and  I 
Of  course  bowed  and  smiled  too,  as  him  I  passed  by. 
But  though  1  was  outwardly  calm  and  serene, 
I  trembled  excessively  ;  but  did  not  mean 
He  should  know  I  was  moved ;  neither  did  he,  I  ween. 

Were  to-day  both  at  church.     He,  my  dearest,  and  1 ' 
And  his  eye  met  my  own  more  than  once.      By  the  l.vr 
I  think  lie  still  likes  his  quondam  "  Bitter-Sweet," 
Just  a  little,  and  no  one  witb  him  can  compete 
In  my  heart,  no  person  at  least  that  I've  met, 
Though  [  may  see  some  one  that  I  like  better,  T>A 


174  STOLEN  WATER.0 

November  19<A,  1864. 

S  VTITRD  AY. 

Been  to  church  only  once  since  the  last  time  I  wrote, 
Ami  ii  ;rred  that  is  worthy  of  note. 

That  day  I  remained  all  (he  noon  time  in  church. 
Went  up  iii  the  choir  for  tin-  first  time,  in  search 
Of  traces  of  him;  but  found  nothing;  but  sat 
For  a  moment  within  the  dear  "  corner  ;"  in  fact, 
In  the  very  same  spot  where,  my  friend  used  to  sit, 

•  l»rirf  year  ago  ;  and  from  it  to  transmit 
Many  thoughts,  looks,  and  smiles  down  to  me. 

Dojovkao* 

;ir  Journal,  that  it  was  just  one  year  ago 

'<>  him? 
brimful  •  •  MS  they've  been  — 

•  passed.     I  \M,.t  •  him,  by  the  way, 
;'l  him  of  if,  and  to-day 

into  his  place,  but  did  not 

•liout  doing  what 
•  much--  '  for  him  ;  so 

t*d  to  go, 
1  my  obji 

pleasant  and  kin<! 

Was  his  smile  and  his  tone,  as  ho  took  from  my  han<l 
Th»-p.ir.--l  I  .    \  >  .      !!•  nl,  and  grand! 

My  letter  ran  nearly  like  tl 


"  1  >  ;i't  it  look  to  you  ningular, 
whan,  that  form 


STOLEN   WATERS.  175 

Of  address  at  the  head  of  a  letter  of  mine  t 
For  though  1  have  written  the  same  many  times. 
To  you  before,  never !   I  write  to  you  now, 
Not  thinking  you'll  care  much  to  hear,  I'll  allow, 
But  because  I  just  now  know  not  what  else  to  do, 
And  because  I  feel,  too,  just  like  writing  to  you. 
I  have  not  forgotten  how  wrong  it  is,  though, 
I  wish  that  I  could !   But  I  ask  you  for  no 
Reply,  and  write  only  because  to  me  'tis 
A  gratification. 

"  Do  you  know  it  is 

Just  one  year  to-day,  since  my  first  note  to  you 
I  wrote  and  despatched  ?    It  does  seem,  it  is  true, 
Hardly  possible,  but  so  it  is !     Ah,  my  dear, 
This  cold,  wiutry  weather,  so  frosty  and  clear, 
Brings  back  very  forcibly  old  times  to  me. 
Does  it  to  you  also,  iny  own  '  Antony  ?  ' 
And  do  you  ever  think,  I  would  much  like  to  know, 
Of  this  time,  but  one  little,  brief  yea*  ago  ? 
A  smile  quite  involuntary  sometimes  says 
You  have  not  entirely  forgotten  '  B.  S  !' 
As  to  me,  I  like  you  just  as  well  now  as  then ; 
I  liked  you  the  first  time  I  saw  you,  and  when 
Our  brief  correspondence  was  closed,  you,  my  friend, 
Were  not  the  less  dear ;  and  I  like  you,  too,  still, 
Although  inconsiderate,  unkind,  you  will 
Admit  that  you  often  have  been — will  you  noi  ? 
I  remember  of  your  saying,  once,  that  you  the  ight 
There  was,  'tween  the  sexes,  no  such  thing  as  love! 
That  'twas  mostly  mere  passion — or  that  was  alove 
Pure  affection  predominant.     I  don't  believe 
You  really  thought  so ;  nor  did  you  conceive, 


176  STOLEN  WATERS. 

My  dear  '  JohnS  how  conclusively  that  remark  proved, 
Hi  ars  married,  you  never  have  loved. 

If  this  in  your  opinion,  I  differ  with  you  ! 

•  love '  f  yea !  for  it  is  true, 
That  it,  in  this  case,  means  no  more  than  I  like, 
Aii'l  I  think  it  is,  too,  somewhat  easier  to  write — 

•IT  you  !    hut  not  with  one  passionate  though-. 
Am  to  soe  you,  and,  though  I  would  not 

Be  sorry  to  have  an  occasional  chat 

i  you,  my  .1.  ar  friend,  I  am  well  aware  that 

•  to  your  love  and  caresses  no  right. 
Nor  do  I  i  It  is  to  me  quite 

r  you  like  me  or  no  ; 
.-•  unkindly  or  kindly;  and  so, 

miles  nor  your  frowns  can  disturb 
My  neither  can  curb 

full  flow  of  n  r. 

"  1   thought 
I  taw  you  a  few  days  ago,  but  was  not 

•  f  it —on  Broadway,  I  believe. 
•ill  with  i  i  receive, 

And  h<  ,.|  :i  kiss,  'till  we  meet, 

I  am  atill  iid'J  mi  only, 

"  Your  own, 

"  Buter-Sweet." 


STOLEN  WATERS.  H7 

December  11  th,   1864. 

SUNDAY. 

December  !  and  almost  the  middle  again  ! 
vim  it  be  that  a  whole  year  has  flown  by  since  whon 
(,  with  trembling  delight,  received  letters  from  him 
Who  is  still  more  to  me  than  all  others  have  been  ? 
This  fatal  and  singular  passion  !  will  it 
Be  never  quite  conquered  ?     And  must  I  admit 
That  my  heart  beats  in  fetters  I'm  powerless  to  break  ? 

A  heavy  snow-storm,  yesterday,  could  but  make 
It  impossible  I  should  go  up  town  to-day. 
I  wonder  if  he  was  at  church,  by  the  way, 
If  my  seat  looked  forsaken,  and  if  my  friend  wished 
That  I  had  been  there,  or  my  presence  once  missed. 


December  18th,  1864. 

SUNDAY. 

To-day  was  a  beautiful  one!  and  I  went 
To  the  old  church  this  morning ;  and  he,  my  dear  friend, 
Was  there,  and  alone.     In  fact,  "  she  "  has  not  been 
For  some  time  at  service.     I  could  not  see  him 
As  hi-  sat  at  the  firsf   but  then  some  one  came  in, 
And  he  moved  to  the  end  of  the  pew.     I  would  lik<  d 
To  have  been  one  seat  back.     Thought  I  noticed  him  writ* 
8* 


178  V    WATfiRA 

Dm:  .but  [  might  been  mistaken.     He 

>inU clown  the  same 

ily  iM-hiiitl  UK-,  in  fact, 
And  with  our  ROJ.I  i'tl  that, 

•.  mini-'  n.  B  •!.       Mt' 

\\;ts  \vri; 

i.ffn  for  ii 

An<l  no  i-liaii'1'-  !<i  L':\''  if  li-'  li-i'l-      liul'-cd,  he 
.it  all.     [  distinctly  oould 

,  of  that  dear, 

which  I've  !ic;inl  very  little  of  late  ! 
••Oi ifh  vibrato 

'       .         I  'illtl  866 

ought  be 

to  me  ? 

MU  ho  conversed  ? 
"in  tht>  first. 

QOe  more  ftlone  J    fol   I   :un  all  (In-  tin.f 
:it,    I    lilltl 

::•!  my   iniiul, 

h  my  fricn.J« 
J.I.'.       Wliat  woiitli-r,  fhi'li, 

I  would  fjiin 
Tbej  •  it  we  might  become  quiet  again  \ 


STOLEN  WATERS. 
December  25th,  1864. 

SUN!  A*. 

Christmas  greeting  to  you,  my  dear  Journal,  once  more ! 
Went  up  town  last  evening,  and  called  at  the  store 
On  my  way,  and  saw  him,  too,  my  dearest !    Did  not 
Have  a  chance,  though,  for  speaking.    Did  he  give  a  thought, 
I  wonder,  to  one  year  ago,  or  to  me  ? 
In  the  chapel  last  eve  was  a  concert  and  "  tree ;  " 
I  went,  and  remained  with  a  friend  for  the  night. 
Went  to  service  to-day,  and  I  wtis  surprised,  quite 

To  see  Mrs. ,  his  wife,  was  there  also,  with  Mm, 

Looking  fair,  and  as  fresh,  too,  as  ever.     Had  been 

A  long  time  since  I'd  seen  her  before.     We'd  to-day 

A  fine  Christmas  sermon,  indeed,  I  must  say. 

This  P.M.  went  to  Sabbath-school,  then  returned  home. 

On  my  way  to  the  car  passed  his  house :  and  I  own, 

What  I  saw  there  both  pleased  and  surprised  me  some,  too ! 

Sitting  back  from  the  window,  and  yet  in  plain  view, 

Was  my  Antony  dearest!  and  close  in  his  arn.8 

A  bundle  of  cambric,  and  soft  flannel  warm. 

Containing  a  baby,  I  could  but  suppose, 

Sleeping  sweetly,  an  infant's  undreaming  repose, 

In  arms  that  would  fain  shield  from  all  earthly  v  ves, 

That  tiny,  frail  blossom.     I  think  I  could  sleep, 

Held  within  such  a  clasp,  a  sleep  dreamless  and  detp — 

Sleep  forever !  and  never  again  wake  to  weep. 

"  'Twere  delicious  to  die,  if  my  heart  might  grow  cold 

While  his  arms  wrapped  me  round  in  that  passionate  fo'd.' 


STOLEN  WATJSS& 

That  i.s  what  I  hud  never  expected  to  see — 
A  b  my  own  Antony." 

Ouc  tiling  somewhat  vexes  me:  I've  sometimes  thought 

:  perhaps  it  is  fancy — from  what 
I  have  n  .riei-d  at  church,  that  not  only  his  friend 
Mr.  I'.,  I'at  his  wife,  from  beginning  to  end, 

•  s  about  our  acquaintance.     And  yet,  I  can't  think 

Feel  he  would  shrink 

.1  aught  so  unworthy;  yet,  think  I  will  write 
And  give  him  a  chance  for  deft -nor,  if  ho  likes, 
Not  condemn  him  unheard,  which  would  hardly  be  right 


December  31**,  1864. 

SATURDAY. 

Last  Tuesday  ore  all  went  awaj, 

ik,  the  same  day, 

n  my  l:ist  nv<.rd  here 
••ild  d.>.  ill  and  C!«AT, 

:  .r  tin-  sain-- ;    the  • 
•  on  my  mind,  hoj- 
fakt-n.       'l  ;!ad 

.f  In-  had 
Any  •••.  «'i-  had  a'l^ht 

ni,    I   thought, 
•on, 
•  'in 
.   the  P.M. 

Looked  a  little  like  clearing,  so  xtar&ed ;  bat  when 


WATERS. 

I  had  walked  a  few  blocks  it  was  raining  again. 
For  a  car  I  then  waited  a  long  time  in  vain, 
So  walked  to  the  ferry.     I  caught  one  at  last, 
On  the  other  side,  tho' ;  'twas  a  few  minutes  past 
Three  o'clock  when  I  reached  the  Library ;  and  he 
Was  not,  of  course,  there  at  that  hour.     As  for  me> 
Though  1  would  have  braved  anything  to  have  gone- 
Did  brave  fearful  travelling,  a  severe  storm — 
Yet  regretted  iny  folly  when  it  was  too  late ; 
Came  home  with  the  world  out  of  humor,  with  fate 
And  myself  in  particular;  and  in  a  state 
Of  discomfort  in  body,  as  well,  being  both 
Cold  and  wet.     Though  I  saw  him  not,  still  I  am  loth, 
Even  yet,  to  believe  my  own  charges.     I  could 
Not  love  him  at  all,  I  am  sure,  if  I  should. 
Many  things  might  prevented  his  keeping  that  day 
The  appointment  1  made.     And  indeed,  though,  he  may 
Have  been  there  and  gone ;  or  my  letter  might  not 
Have  reached  him  in  time ;  or  else  he  may  have  thought 
That  it  was  so  stormy,  I  would  not  be  there. 
I'll  give  hiru  one  more  chance. 

I  hope  'twill  be  fair 

To  morrow,  for  I  very  much  wish  to  go 
Up  to  church  in  the  morning ;  but  all  day  the  BUOV? 
Has  fallen  unceasingly  ;  so  I  shall  be 
Obliged  to  stay  home,  very  likely,  I  see. 

To-day  is  tho  last  of  this  changeable  year  I 
So  filled  with  both  sorrow  and  joy,  hope  and  fear. 
The  last  hours  are  spci-ding  !     All  day  1  havo  thought 
Of  one  year  ago — of  those  hours  that  were  fraught 
Wit.h  so  much  of  gladness  to  me  !     Of  that  day, 
The  happiest  ever  I  spent,  I  must  say. 


Ix-j  :/ML 

I  whall  n  r  it !     I  wonder  if  he 

• — if  he  but  cared  for  me 
On!;.  /as  much  as  I  do  about  him! 

Ami,  in  ;».ed,  how  do  /know,  but  down  deep  within 

••in  in  his  heart,  tln-rc  is  traced 
line,  and  in  letters  which  naught  can  efface? 
demonstrative,  and  it  may  be 

to  him.  tveii,  than  he  is  to  me. 
;<>  the  year  "  >i \ty-tour,"  so  roplete 
With  associations  l»otli  hitter  and  sweet  1 


January  2<?,  1805. 
MONDAY. 

It  "  m.ide  be  .rm  ail  the  d..  Uy, 

An<l  i  pe  no  pati.  i'.vay 

.leli  I  o!  course  u  in  ; 

.      do ill     opened      Hid 

\v  a ; 

did   the  last,  yet    1 

//'/  // •!/,/>>/    than  that. 
.is  (|iiit»  unhaji|iy,  in  tact. 
And  t  M  jubilant  !      For,  this  A.M., 

I  «  .'id    \vhel) 

'•    '  mi-  nee 

i  !  "    and  thei. 

P«Me'i  !i..m    -h  •  '    md  I 

i  not  ti-ll  you,  m\  .  I  should  try, 

v  pleased  1          .  •  ,,),  to  oin»«  mor« 
in  /u'ji  wvll-knuwn  ban  ,  ./rt>. 


STOLEN  WATERS.  183 

it  was  both  short  and  cold  ;  but  a  very  few  lines ; 

Vet  more  precious  to  this  wayward,  fond  heart  -:>f  mine, 

Than  words  of  the  most  ardent  love  from  another. 

'Twos  addressed  my  whole  name  ;  and  on  each  of  the  other! 

He  has  my  initials  used  only,  and  I 

Did  not  know  that  he  knew  what  it  was. 

By  the  by, 

I  ought  to  have  had  it  on  Saturday.     States 
Received  mine  on  Thursday ;  adds,  "  one  day  too  late." 
Said— 

"  You  do  me,  indeed,  gross  injustice  !     I'm  LO 
Such  person.     Should  written  you  some  time  ago, 
But  did  not  know  where  to  address,  and  do  not 
Hardly  think  this  will  reach  you." 

I  never  had  though  * 

Of  his  writing,  and  so,  did  not  send  my  address. 
That  was  all  that  he  wrote.     There  was  not,  I  confess, 
In  that,  aught  to  go  into  ecstasies  o'er ; 
Yet,  coming  from  him,  it  has  given  me  more 
Of  pleasure  and  gladness  than  aught  else  could  do ; 
Aud  has  rendered  my  New  Year  most  happy,  'tis  true. 
L  sat  down  at  once  and  wrote  him  a  reply, 
Both  loviug  and  long;  looked  it  o'er — laid  it  by, 
Aud  taking  a  fresh  sheet,  another  one  wrote, 
As  brief  and  as  cold  as  his  own  icy  note. 
There  was  a  great  contrast  the  letters  between ! 
Oue  the  heart  had  dictated,  from  th'  wealth  and  the  sheen 
Of  its  jubilant  love  ;  and  the  other  was  traced 
By  a  hand  which  was  guided  alone  by  strait-laced 
Decorum,  and  cold,  world'y  pride  ;  and  the  one 
Which  I  sent  was  the  last. 

One  more  day  is  now  don*). 
And  auspiciously  one  more  New  Year  has  begun ! 


184  >/,A.V    WAT  ERA 


January  Ivth,  1865. 

SUNDAY. 

I  made  an  appoint  incut  for  Tuesday,  P.M., 
But  it  raint-d  hard  all  day;  consequently  agais 

It   \v:i>  mis^-,1.       Y  •-'••nlay  I'd  a  let  ter,  although, 

P.M.  of  :  .   he  would  go 

••  1..  to  meet  me. 

To-day  the  wind  blew 

eedingly  hard,  and  '  «-o  Id,"  too; 

JJut   I   \vi-nt  up  to   church.       I'd  f  •  •  '  <  s;iy 

to  me  canic,  I  think  tin-  la.-1 
I  was  •!  in  •  if   I   w.  ni  !il  "• 

In.-  could  let 

|HJW  to  ail  .  and  thoi:  sas  nin» 

'. 

•  retain, 

•H!id   the  change. 
.    much,    1   ailn 

:  .1  ;!PT  buck, 

that 

If  wo 

•iii'T  end  .sit,  thi-rr  \vo\i 

'This  n> 

I    UJHM1, 

'Ult.S,    tllOllgh, 

Were  there.     This 

•i  heroes. 

too,  and  thought  it  quite  strung*,  1   tup 
POM, 


STOLEN  WATERS.  188 

To  nock*  the  change  ;  or,  at  least,  she  stared  some 

When  J  took  my  new  seat.     The  number  of  one 

Of  the  first  hymns,  she  failing  to  catch,  at  once  looked 

A  t  him,  but  his  eyes  were  then  bent  on  his  book ; 

With  a  gesture  just  slightly  impatient  she  then 

Turned  to  me,  so  I  passed  her  my  hymn-book,  and  when 

She  returned  it,  of  course  bowed  and  smiled  pleasantly  ; 

We  were  both  in  the  corner,  and  so  could  but  be 

Very  near  to  each  other.     How  little  she  knew 

Of  the  ties  indissoluble  binding  us  two ! 

That  (the  was  the  one  only  barrier  between 

Him  and  me,  in  more  senses  than  one,  too,  I  ween ! 

For  as  ftJte  sat  between  us  at  service  to-day, 

So  in  all  things  she  parts  us,  both  now  and  alway. 


January  27th,  18G5. 
FRIDAY. 

Last  week  an  appointment  for  Thursday  I  made 
And  again  were  frustrated  my  plans,  so  well  laid. 
One  of  the  L.'s  patrons  is  recently  dead, 
And  I  in  the  paper  on  Wednesday  eve  read 
That  the  L.  would  be  closed  on  the  following  day. 
I  was  much  disappointed  and  vexed,  I  must  say. 
But  I  not  being  able  to  help  it,  was  forced 
To  make  the  best  of  it ;  supposing,  of  course, 
That  he  would  have  seen  the  same  notice,  also, 
That  morning  at  latest,  and  so  would  not  go. 
But  lest  he  should  not  have,  I  wrote  him  again- 


<1LEN  WATERS. 


Saying  why  I  tlmt  diy  should  not  come  in,  and 

M»l""g  one  mon-  appointment  for  Tuesday  P.M. 

Ther»5  SIM-IMS  on  inn  :  to  be  a  spell  set! 

But  all  <>  yet 

My  will  an<l  dcshv  him  to  see.     It  has  been, 

Oh,  su.-h  a  /  -/'/  ti;:i'-  since  I've  spoken  with  him, 

Since  my  han-1  with  f.>n<l  pressure  has  been  clasped  in  hi* 

Almost  a  whol:-,  long,  weary  year.     Yet  he  is 

My  1  :  iv  (l.-uivst  !  and  what  wonder,  then, 

I  desire  with  iii.-vtf  iuMi-  longing  again 

To  R?  ••«,  hand  to  hand,  with  the  man 

Who  to  me  is  so  much  ;  and  that  also  I  am 

any  amount 
Of  pri'l-'  to  accomplish  my  wish  ;  and  would  count 

<1  to  an  hour's  chat  with  him? 
And  ..in-  a<-i]u:iintanco  has  been 

on  my  jmrt. 

„'  t'liougli!   hut  yrt  Inv  in  my  h«art 
la  moi  .!i<l,  it  is  • 

.  :  iments  t 
•  always  is  con-|u<Tor  ;  that  I'm  a  sli 

\vhidi  chafe 

While  I     nrutli  th".  ,'s  still  h- 

ivfd  I  in  town  went  once  in 
i  my  way  tore. 

i  in  ;   I  -.v  i  •- 

•••ak  with  him.      Oh!    1  it,  by  thn  bj, 

..1  found 
When  careles:  -.^  its  i-olumns  a-«Iown, 

^  ijx  iU 
I  went  t>  the  L  and  I  waited,  while  minute 


STOLEN  WATERS.  181 

By  minute  flew  on,  and  still  he  did  not  come. 

I  at  last  gave  him  up,  and  then  started  for  home. 

Vexed,  provoked  was  I  ?     No  ;  those  words  cannot  expreai 

Half  how  angry  I  was.     Far  more  so,  I  confess, 

Than  heretofore  ever  I  have  been  with  him. 

Feeling  certain  he  knew  very  well  I  was  in, 

And  that,  if  he  had  not  intended  to  go, 

Or  could  not,  ho  might  at  the  least  have  said  so 

When  I  went  iu  the  store,  why,  how  could  I  but  feel 

Very  angry,  indeed  ?     Neither  did  I  conceal 

How  incensed  I  then  was,  in  the  letter  I  sent. 

I  was  veiy  cross  with  him,  and  also  meant 

He  should  know  it. 

To-day,  I  received  a  reply. 

Though  its  contents  were  read  with  a  quite  tearless  eye, 
In  my  heart  was  such  sorrow  as  never  before 
It  has  known ;  for  I  felt  sure  that  now  was  all  o'er, 
And  strangei-s  we  were  to  become  evermore ! 
But  I  was  not  conscious  how  plainly  was  traced 
The  grief  and  despair  I  then  felt,  in  my  face, 
Till  a  friend  coming  in  had  expressed  much  concern, 
Being  sure  I  was  ill.     I  could  but  have  discerned 
From  his  note,  that  he  was,  indeed,  only  less  vexed 
Than  I  was  when  I  wrote.     Neither  was  I  perplexe   , 
After  reading  his  letter,  the  reason  to  know, 
Nor  could  I  then  wonder  at  his  feeling  so. 
He  never  has  seut  me  one  cross  word  before ; 
Ajid  I-  -well !  I've  written  to  him  many  more 
Cross  letters  than  kind  ones,  I'm  fearful ;  but  ther 
I  get  angry  one  minute,  the  next  pleased  again, 
While  a  person  not  easily  vexed  frequently 
Retains  their  displeasure  some  time.     And  so  be 


188  STOLE*    H.r/7. 


,'  on  .  rat  me, 

Will    now  not  I'TL^M'  iu<-,  1  tear,  readily. 

and  1  o>uld 

Bat  aekno  tth.     11  •  presumed  that  it  would 

•  with  etiquette,  should 

II  •  >r<l  dou:it  ;   and  that  therefore,  as  I 

••w  that  In-  saw  me,  ho  had  in  reply 

tin,  Ixtli  appointments  he  kftpt  ; 
md  the  1  .  .  ami  tho  next 

:iat    he  knew  ;   and  ;us  /if  the  last  two 

What  to  do, 
then,  eon.M-ious   that    I 
id  do  no  less,  in  reply, 

:i-l  thus  make  amends 

.ind  s  -nd 

he 

.    in  ;  ki-epini;  \s  ith  me 
n-'ii   I  should  ma).  •  1   wrota, 

And  he  will  to-morrow,  1  think,  ha\e  mv  i 


ruary 

TUKSl>\V. 


or  of  import,  since  h«»re  1  wrot«  l*«t 
i   two  Sahhutlm  j-a«'.  ; 

•T  have  1 
fieocivod  any  letter  from  him,  in  reply 


STOLEN  WATERS.  189 

"A>  the  one  which  I  sent  more  than  one  week  ago. 

If  he  could  pass  that  by  unanswered,  I  know 

Not  what  he  is  made  of.     I  sent  this  P.M. 

A.  veiy  cool  note,  and  appointing  again 

A  meeting  for  Thursday.     And  failure  this  time 

Will  crush  out  all  hope  from  this  poor  heart  of  mint ; 

Forcftd  to  yield  to  despair,  I  will  never  again 

Expect  aught  but  misery,  sorrow,  and  pain. 

"  He  tosses  me  bitterness,"  truly !     Must  I 

With  a  stone  be  contented  when  bread  is  so  nigh, 

Or  with  husks,  just  because  the  fruit's  hanging  so  high? 


February  9th,  1865. 

THURSDAY. 

Far  more  happy  to-night  than  my  words  can  portray, 
I  have  seated  myself,  the  events  of  to-day 
To  transcribe  in  my  book  ;  but  my  heart  is  so  light, 
So  jubilant,  joyful,  and  so  filled  with  bright, 
Sweet  thoughts,  hopes,  emotions,  I  scarce  can  compose 
Myself  to  write  calmly,  this  evening,  of  those 
Events  and  sweet  feelings. 

"Well,  ./need  not  say, 

L  presume,  my  dear  Journal,  what  rendered  this  day 
Such  a  glad  one  to  me !     WTiat  has  rolled  far  away 
The  lowering  clouds,  shown  the  bright  "  silver  lining,' 
That  "  behind  the  dark  cloud  is  the  sun  still  shining." 
Ajid  that  ever  '(is  "  darkest  just  previous  to  dawn." 
What  else  could  have  turned  into  roseate  morr 


190  't/L\\    WATERS. 

My  1  curl's  UK  that  to-day  I've  toeu 

Ami  that  In-  is  still,  that  he  ever  has  been, 
My  dearest  dear  friend ! 

This  r.M.  1  went  in, 
An*!  at  the  LP'i.iry  I  u  li;.-,l  for  him 
Until  three  o'clock,  when — he  c&me!  What  a  bound 
gave,  as  my  darling  came  down 

"I'll"  wlr-iv  /  \v;is  (hen  sitting!      How  bright 

Was  '  "U  his  lips,  and  how  sweel   the  soft  light 

In  hi  )  how  pleasant  his  niusieal  tones, 

rmnred  1  -id  pressed  in  his  own, 

i    warm    fondne-s   tin-    hand    which    I    gave!      Then    li 

di 
ir  i  lo  e  to  mine,  and  sat  down.     And  I  knew, 

love  was  "  still  true." 
we  had!  and  all,  too,  was  explained 
.  'till  n<>  thought  r 

in  in  !. indues;  fur  him;  and  it  seems 

All  (1.  •  was  can  em* 

'.1  now  :ts  .re. 

iiim  far  more 

<  Hi !    the  reason  that  I 

is  away,  so  it  was  not  received 

1  ve— 

i  iin,  also  mv  last, 
: 

.i.^nt  chat; 
,  that 

^ot  crom  any  more,  he  would  be 
A  good  boy  in  the  futur<-      He  a' HO  anked  me, 


STOLEN  WATERS.  19] 

Once  or  twice,  when  I  thought  I'd  be  in  tc  wn  again ' 
And  said,  too,  that  if  I  would  let  him  know  when 
He'd  try  and  come  up.     I  of  course  was  too  glad 
I'D  promise.     We  walked  to  my  car,  where  he  bade 
Me  good-by,  and  then  left  me. 

How  sweet  'tis,  once  more 
To  feel  we  are  friends !  all  unpleasantness  o'er, 
All  difference  reconciled  !     What  wonder,  then, 
In  my  heart  smiles  and  sunshine  are  nestling  again  ? 


February  12  th,  1865. 
SUNDAY. 

I  have  nothing  to  write  of  since  Thursday,  except 
Our  sweet  reconcilement,  and  perfect,  has  kept 
My  heart  constantly  buoyant  and  glad.     Was  to-day 
Up  at  church,  though  it  snowed  when  I  started  away. 
And  was  bitterly  cold.     He  'was  not  there  this  morn, 
And  I  thought  possibly  on  account  of  the  storm 
Might  not  be  this  afternoon  either.     Of  late 
We've  service  had  in  the  P.M.,  I  must  state, 
Instead  of  the  evening,  as  usual.     I'd  not 
Have  gone  up  to  church  this  cold  day,  but  I  thought 
I  would  much  like  to  knov  if  my  friend  would  appeal 
Any  different  now  than  before.     Well !  my  fears 
ID  regard  to  his  absence  were  all  put  to  flight 
When  I  saw  him  corne  in.     We  were  both  of  us  r  uit» 


Y  WATERS. 

Alone  iii  our  j  ..id  nothing  to  o.<- 

But  look  at  each  other  ;  and  we  improved,  to*. 

To  ad  \  air  i|tji(irt  unity.      He 

1  Mniles,  too,  to  me  ; 

:    'oward  IDC,  ill  lli.S  fftCO 

The  Ha  whi.-h  f  used  to  see  there  in  the  days 

Long  gone  by.     A'  .  like  "  old  times,**  inde*. 

N  e  mm  h  heed 

in-  dorht  n  ;    at   least    /  did  not, 

And  b  i  thought 

.vn  darling  !      How  much  I  love  him. 
iy  h.ippy  ''"is  S,il)l»atli  has  l>een! 
I  fi-lt  fully  j>aid,  to  M^,  although 

i.'iit.       I  know 
i  iiiiu  .MII  f  ••!  iicM-r  a^ain 
nave  recently     until  l:i.st  Thursday  —  when 
i  things  paasc'l  .1  all  things  Ix-came  new." 

.  too, 

a^o,  ;it   lln-  tilili- 

Wo  to-day  Siit  in  rhun-h,  at  the  s;iino  hour,  in  tine, 
He  and  I  were  togrth'-r  in  my  dear  old  home 

('••i-  the  la.st  time.       I  did  not,   I  own, 
I    had,  too! 


I  wrote  a  few  words,  and  dropped  into  his 

lii-'h  tln-v  were  traced.       He  did 

:ht 

That  >  I  it  whom  /wouM  not  c*re 

To  have  see  or  read  it,  I  told  !,;•  tore 

Whan  w«>  :  -  liaek  for  it. 

I  of  couren  could  not  wait  for  him  ;   t  :uit, 

|  ,  ,ilt   if  he   Kaw 


STOLEN   WATERS.  193 

He  could  join  ine.     But  Mr.  S.,  when  he  came  out, 

Took  his  arm  very  coolly,  walked  with  him  about 

Two  blocks,  and  then  left  him.     The  rest  of  the  way 

I  had  him  myself;  and  although,  I  dare  say, 

It  was  highly  "  imprudent " — our  walking  together — 

Twas  none  the  less  pleasant.     It  stormed,  and  the  weather 

Was  fearfully  cold,  yet  I  gave  it  no  thought ; 

His  presence  with  life,  warmth,  and  sunshine  was  fraught, 


February  23d,  186b. 

THURSDAY. 

Nearly  two  pleasant  weeks  have  now  glided  away 
Since  my  last  record  here.     I  had  made  for  to-day 
An  appointment.     'Twas  cloudy,  and  so,  hardly  knew 
About  going  in,  what  'twas  best  I  should  do. 
At  length  I  decided  I  would ;  and  was  glad 
Afterward  that  I  did  so.     A  book,  that  I  had 
Been  wishing  to  purchase,  I  ordei'ed  through  him. 
So  I  thought  on  my  way  to  the  L.  I'd  stop  in 
At  his  place,  get  my  book,  also  thus  ascertain 
Was  7te  going  up  ;  that  I  might  not  in  vain 
Have  to  wait  if  he  could  not.     He  sat  near  the  door, 
And  he  seldom  remains  in  that  part  of  the  store. 
Ho  sprang  up  to  speak  to  me,  keeping  me  there 
ir»r  more  than  an  hour.     It  was  quite  private  where 
We  were  standing,  and  not  many  people  were  in. 
Bui.  Td  not  the  slightest  idea  I'd  been 
9 


194  »i.i'N  WAT/:. 

o  so  long ,  and  was  (juit^  surprised,  too,  I  Must  8*3 
That  he  wished — as  was  evident— that  I  should  stay. 
And  wonder  he  thought  it  quite  "  prudent."     Away 
Time  rapidly  hastened,  and  forced  me  to  leave. 

To  a  masquerade  ball,  they  wore  going  this  eve, 
He  and  Mrs. ,  his  wife.     I  tried  to  induce 

Him  to  tell  me  where  now  were,  my  letters.      No  use 

I  found  it  to  coa*  or  to  tease  :  h 

To  inform  me,  or  rather  he  told  m<>,  'tis  true, 

Bo  many  im|>rol>ahlo  Ktories,  I  know 

Not  which  to  i  III  in  if  he'd  come 

Out  to  sec  me  some  time;    hut  he  thought  he'd  not  ru» 

Any  risk  ;    I  inqui;  "lie 

•ii-dly,  "  Nol  " 
:.  truly!       /'•  ;  SO. 

h  ease  we  believe  what  we  ardently  wi  -h 

H".  boWOvX  :.  olid  promise  me  this: 
if  the  n<  \t  Miminer  our  j..-oj.le  should  be 
Aw;i  i  miles,  leaving  me 

All  a  • .       1  !<•  would 

'   t  ime,  if  he  could 
away  fp>  M  have  gone  up  to-day 

iled  on  th<-  \v. 

•tit  ones  of  ray  dearest  to-ni^htf 
Ood  bleiw  and  pros  -rvo  him  'till  morning's  fair  light  t 


STOLEN  WATERS. 
May  3lst,  1865. 

WEDNESDAY. 

The  kst  day  of  May  !     And  I  find  it  has  bee  a 
fhree  months,  ,md  more  even,  since  I  have  within 
These  pages  a  single  word  traced.     Also  find, 
Glancing  backward  a  little,  this  journal  of  mine 
Has  of  late  more  a  simple  heart-record  become, 
Than  aught  else  beside.     The  truth  is,  to  no  one 
Can  I  speak  of  the  pain  which  at  times  I  have  found 
Unbearable  quite.     And  the  festering  wound 
Forced  to  ever  conceal,  it  to  me  gives  relief 
Sometimes  to  give  utterance  here  to  my  grief. 
And  therefore  I  write  of  it.  '  Common  events 
Have,  of  late,  been  to  me  of  so  little  moment, 
I  have  come  to  ignore  them  all  here,  though  each  week 
And  &ach  day  brings  its  own,  either  bitter  or  sweet. 

And  as  to  my  love,  we  have  met  now  and  then, 
Sometimes  at  the  store,  at  the  L.,  or  again 
A  few  times  at  church,  once  or  twice  in  the  street. 
He  has  been  just  as  charming  whene'er  we  did  meet, 
But  I've  made  some  appointments  that  lie  did  not  keep 
And  sent  him  some  letters,  to  which  a  reply 
I  have  failed  to  receive.     I  wrote  him,  by  the  by, 
About  three  weeks  ago,  a  short  note,  to  which  I, 
Re-questing  an  answer,  directed  it  sent 
"  To  remain  at  the  office  'till  called  for."     I  went 


196  OLEN   WATERS. 

fn  town  t<   the  L. — though  it  stormed — on  the  day 

I  looked  for  it;  when  coming  down,  on  Broadway, 

T  saw  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street, 

A.  face  and  a  form  too  familiar  to  meet 

Or  j»ass  without  notice.     Ho  did  not,  although, 

.ve  ine.     Ere  I  reached  him  ho  crossed  to  Park  Ro» 
taking  a  <-ar  IIM\,  ,1  away  toward  home, 
Entirely  unconscious  his  "  Antony's  own" 
Ha-1  met.  him.      1  . *lt<>ul  I  have  been  glad 

'•i  him  just  a  few  moments'  chat  to  have  hid, 
As  a  matter  of  course  ;  l»ut  I  thought  I  would  ve 

I  if  I  should  find  waiting  for  in-', 
At  the  oilier,  a  l.-tter  from  him,  as  I  hoped.  • 

nl  a  splendid  one,  too;  and  I  oped 
And  ii>  o  •nt'-nts  with  eager  impatience  perused. 

infused 

New  life.  .,  and  joy.     By  the  way,  we,  1  find, 

Both  gave  up  our  pews  in  church  at  the  same  time, 
And  each  quite  unknown  to  the  other. 

This  eve, 

I  again  writo  myself  disappointed  !     Believe 
No  one  ever  was  disappointed  BO  much  ! 

MI  up.      [  can  not  endure  such 
Aggr  i  much    longer.      I  am 

And  how  can 
it  times ! 

lian  unkind. 

I   Mippuso  ho  diM'H  rot  ni'uui  to  be, 
Doe*  :  fully  he  torments  me, 

Many  times  I've  resolve, 1  I  would  never  again 
Either  writ**  him  or  make  an  appointment ;  and  thfe 


STOLEN  WATERS.  197 

Irresistible  longings  for  tidiugs  of  him, 

Or  desires  for  one  glimpse  of  his  dear  face,  have  been 

Triumphant,  my  good  resolutions  dispelled, 

And  while  pride  remonstrated,  and  I  have  felt 

To  the  utmost  my  folly,  have  written  again. 

Why  my  fate  must,  it  been  to  have  loved  thu<j  in  vain  f 

But  I  will  not  complain  ;  right  and  best,  I  doubt  not, 

It  is,  and  rebellion  is  quelled  by  the  thought 

That  underneath  all  there's  a  long-broken  vow. 

Would  I  could  forget  him !  nor  ever  allow 

Him  a  place  in  my  heart  any  more. 

I  intend 

At  the  sea-shore  to  pass  a  few  weeks  with  some  friends, 
And  expect  to  gu  soon.     So,  my  Journal  friend  dear, 
Until  my  return,  I  shall  write  no  more  here. 


July  20th,  1865. 

THURSDAY. 

At  home  once  again  !  And  how  pleasant  it  seems! 
"  There  is  no  place  like  home ; "  and  although  all  my  dreame 
Of  pleasure  were  fully,  I  think,  realized, 
And  the  time  gayly  passed  by  in  sails,  walks,  and  drives, 
Yet  sometimes  my  heart  txirned  with  longing,  I  own, 
To  the  quiet  and  peace  of  my  dearly -loved  home. 
While  absent,  some  letters  I  had  from  a  friend, 
One  with  whom,  1  believe,  I  have  previous  to  then 
Had  no  correspondence.     Permission  to  write 
He  requested,  and  I  thought  perhaps  that  it  might 
Be  to  me  pleasant,  also,  so  gave  my  consent ; 
Stipulating,  however,  in  its  commencement, 


198  STOI.L\\ 

No  love-passage  there  should  he  in  it.     I  To  thought 
Of  the  "heart  disease"  I'd  a  slight  touch,  Imt  'twould  no* 
A  lasting  Miiiht  ]>n>vr.      Would  th;it  In"  miu'ht  l»e  right  1 
Ife  ^  •  -Hers,  and  though  1  was  qx.ite 

Glad  to  have  them,  yet  I,  caring  nothing  for  him, 
His  letters  in  consequence,  when  they  had  i 
Once  i'  id  replied  to,  could  not  be  to  me 

Of  much  farther  value. 

Fnmi  home  frequently, 

Of  course,  heard  while  al^mt  ;  from  Colom-l  Allair 
i,  when  I  Mri  lU'.iitinu'  iiu'  tliere. 

.1  him  ; 
fVoia  . \nnii-,  my  friend,  who  ;t  long  (nut1  has  beeu 

in  my  love — one  I 

I  wrote  him  l>ef, .p-  my  departure  from  home, 
To  say  I  was  g»iir_;  ;   if  /"•  liked  to  write, 
I'd  !••   in  -  ;  glad  to  h'  n.     I'd  been  staying  in  quite 
A  di:  the  (own,  a  few  days, 

And  BO,  when  .  urned  to  tin-  place 

.  I  found  several  there, 
one  I  saw  -was  addressed  in  his  fair, 
'•  n  h.ind.  ad  neither  was  it 

::id,    I    .idliiit, 

'  e  glad 

::m  )iny  l>esid' 
Wa8  n  :tnd  lii..  '  •  mo 

WU-H  ••  wiH'kit ;  and  he 

Ouglr  .  then  to  bo  writing.     Had  been 

indeed ;  and  expected,  within 

it  of  town  to  remove;  hut  did  not, 
iui-  whr  he   could  V»ut  have  »hotigh« 

• 


STOLEN   WATERS.  19* 

Mamina  now  soon  intends 
l.'o  go  into  the  country  a  few  weeks,  and  then 
I  think  that  for  him  I  may  possibly  send, 
Ajid  give  him  a  chance  to  his  promise  redeem. 
A  a  he  will,  if  he  vet  cares  about  me,  I  ween  ! 


August  1st,  1865 

TUESDAY. 

lam  thoroughly  wretched,  and  reckless  as  well ! 
What  of  late  has  come  o'er  me,  I  scarcely  can  tell ; 
But  I've  felt  for  awhile,  as  if  at  any  cost 
I  must  have  my  love !     And  my  heart,  tempest-tosasd 
And  despairing,  is  utterly  desperate  now, 
And  I  will  be  something  to  him,  I  avow  ! 
For  him  I  have  sacrificed  my  peace  of  mind, 
Independence,  my  pride,  happiness,  and,  in  fine, 
Everything  but  my  honor — am  tempted  to  say 
That  if  I  can  have  him  in  no  other  way, 
Even  that  shall  go  also.     To  him,  all  the  deepest, 
And  freshest,  and  fondest,  the  purest,  and  sweetest 
Emotions  and  thoughts  of  a  heart  only  he 
Has  power  to  thrill — all  the  wealth  of  a  free 
And  impassioned  first  love — and  one,  too,  felt  to  be 
The  one  love  of  my  life — lias  been  long  consecrated, 
And  he  cares  for  it  nothing!     I  am  aggravated 
Endurance  beyond ;  past  resistance  am  tempted  ; 
Exhausted  with  being  from  pain  ne'er  exempted  ; 


iiOG  OLEN  WATERS. 

And  weary,  and  heart-sick  of  struggles  to  gain 
Tin-  mastery  over  this  hopeless,  and  vain. 
This  humiliating,  tormenting,  and  quite 
Uncontrollable  love.      Indignation,  grief,  pride, 
On  my  part  —  indifference,  coldness,  neglect, 
On  his  own,  do  not  have  e'en  the  slightest  effect, 

•  mpletely  to  make  mo  the  slave 
Of  th  'ver]>owering  passion.     Things  gra\ e, 

And  not  pleasant,  are  these  to  acknowledge,  I  know 
Nor  anywhere  else  hut  here  could  I  do  so. 

.ill  confidences  are  saen-d  \\  hh  you, 
.M\   .Iimrnal,  my  friend  ever  silent  and  truel 
MI,'  thus,  1  have  written  a  letter  to  him, 
And  At-  this: 

"My  Dear'«7b/m:' 

"  (  >1 "  ninf 
>t.  thing  that  met 
a  hy  you,  and  not  yet 
fed.      My  time  being  quite  occupied 

is  to  write,  I  diil  not.  answer  yours — 
:  •»  you,   1   felt 

morning,  of  you 
'•••n  thii.  <ns  unto 

1.  and  ha\e  now  come  to  write 

••  result. 

"  In  thr»  first  place,  I'm  quit* 
Beti"  f  things  now 

low 

i  v  well  know 
1 1  has  been  to  mo  most  aggravating,  also 

s — our  acquaintance— although 


STOLEN  WATERS.  201 

f  presume  that  it  often  has  been  my  own  fault, 

More  than  yours ;  but  some  things  have  excessively  galled 

My  sensitive  feelings,  when  probably  you 

Were  unconscious  of  giving  offence.     It  is  true, 

I  have  written  you  letters,  and  more  than  a  few, 

Such  as  no  gentleman  to  me  ever  would  sent 

More  than  once  ;  and  your  very  forbearance — well  meant 

A.S  I  doubt  not  it  was — has  sometimes  made  me  more 

A.nnoyed  with  you  still.     You  have  exercised  o'er 

Mo  a  strange  fascination  ;  and,  bent  to  your  will 

My  high  spirit  has  been,  and  pride  also,  until 

I  feel  I  can't  longer  endure  it.     I  may 

Have  told  you,  perhaps,  the  same  thing  ere  to-day  j 

But  then  it  was  written  on  impulse,  and  now 

I  am  deeply  in  earnest ;  and  you  will  allow 

That  if  you  have  found  me  '  all  things  at  all  times,' 

I  at  least  have  been  always  sincere  ! 

"  Now,  in  fine, 

I  am  ready  to  meet  you  upon  yoxir  own  terms, 
Or  to  meet  you  no  more !  just  as  you  shall  discern 
Will  be  best.     You  know  very  well  why  you  came 
To  see  me  the  first  time  ;  with  motives  the  same 
If  you  now  desire  calling  upon  see  again, 
[  shall  be  glad  to  see  you.     You  told  me  that  when 
Mamma  was  '  three  hundred  miles  distant,'  you  then 
Would  come  over ;  and  now  is  the  time  to  fulfil 
The  promise  you  made — and  I'm  sure  that  you  will, 
If  you  have  the  slightest  regard  for  mo  still. 
Should  you  come  out  here  once,  and  you  then  do  not  chooaf 
To  do  so  again,  I  will  ask  you  to  lose 
No  more  time  for  me.     But  I  think  you  will  not 
Regret  it)  if  you  should  decide  to  come  out. 
9 


STOLEN  WATERS. 

I  think  that  indeed  it  is  much  msre  for 
than  it  can  be  for  mine,  I  am  sure! 
I  expect  to  receive  you  on  Wednesday  P.M., 
Between  one  and  five,  unless  I  before  then 
Hear  something  contrary;  and  you  will  pleas*  write 
Should  you  fail  to  come  out. 

"  Now  in  closing,  good-night 

With  kind  wishes  for  you,  and  with  hopes  we  may  meet 
Before  many  days,  I  am 

"  Yours, 

"  Bitter-Sweet." 

1  <lo  not  much  think  he  will  come,  but  he  may; 
iipposc,  tliiit  it  too  would  be  best  every  way, 
Th:it  ho  should  not— for  him,  luid  mo  also — and  still, 
Notwithstanding  all  "  prudence,"  I  do  hope  he  will! 


August  4th,  1865. 

Kill  DAT. 

My  idi-  went  <>(T  Wednesday  morn, 

\n<l  ix  week*  thi-v  will  doubtless  be  gone. 

moon  cam  tod  him  hem", 

As  no  note  I'd  received,  Baying  ho  should  not  come. 
Watched  and  waited,  but  vainly.     I  did  think  he  might 
Hare  written,  at  least ;  though  'twas  possible,  quite, 
Ho  intended  to  come,  and  could  not  get  away, 
And  no  would  be  out  on  the  following  day. 


STOLEN  WAIERS.  203 

The  next  morning  the  carrier  brought  me  a  note 

From  him,  and  my  heart  seemed  to  les,p  to  my  throat 

.4.8  I  took  off  the  wrapper,  expecting  to  find 

That  he  could  not  or  would  not  come  out.     But  this  time 

I  was,  if  disappointed,  agreeably  so. 

I  ought  to  have  had  it  on  Wednesday,  although, 

As  'twas  written  the  first.     Said  that  he  did  not  know 

Until  the  receipt  of  my  letter,  that  day, 

That  I  had  returned.     Then  he  went  on  to  say, 

Had  business  way  down  town  that  P.M.,  so  he 

Thought  that  he'd  steal  an  hour,  and  slip  over  to  B. 

Told  in  detail  his  search  for  the  house,  and  then  writes : 

"  I  rang  at  the  door,  which  was  then  open  wide, 

At  about  three  o'clock.     A  young  lady  replied 

To  the  summons,  who  was  not  B.  S. ;  so  I  thought 

I  might  justly  conclude  that  your  people  had  not 

Gone  *  three  hundred  miles '  out  of  town,  or  else  they 

Had  come  back  in  a  hurry.     Am  going  away 

To-morrow,  and  may  return  Friday  ;  if  so, 

Will  see  you  if  possible." 

Well !  you  must  know, 
My  Journal,  this  letter  was,  to  the  suspense 
And  doubt  I  then  felt,  a  relief  most  intense. 
I  could  not,  at  once,  though,  remember  at  all 
At  that  day  and  hour  there  had  any  one  called. 
But  at  last  recollected  that  some  one  did  ring, 
And  of  Gertrude,  who  went  to  the  door,  directing 
A  gentleman  up  the  street  farther  ;  and  thought 
At  the  time,  what  a  soft  voice  he  had ;  but  did  not 
Once  dream  of  its  being  my  friend ;  and  am  glad 
That  /did  not  go  to  the  door.     7f  T  had 


STOLEN  WATERS. 


Soin  :  iii^'h,  'twould  saved  nie,  of  cocrsc.      Bu6 

rode 

Did  u  iiiin  at  all,  I  conclude. 

I  wonder   1  if  ff  h'Mi-'l  me  scolding;  I  know 
I  was  fearfully  n  i  vous  and  cross;  thought  also, 

have  seen  me  ;  I  sat  just  inside 
The  back-parlor,  with  both  folding-doors  open  wide. 
But  ho  said  In-  did  not.     That  was  Tuesday  I  the  day 
Before  mother  and  (Jertrudo  were  going  away. 

i  noon  he  was  here  !  and  is  still 
My  |..\,-!   and  my  darling!      I  fed  (hat  Until 

.  iiown  him.      I  find 
indeed  him  ;  for  ho,  good  and  kind, 
Of  (  ho  recklessness  in  my  last  letter  expressed, 
it  IUPI>  di'l  it,  instead,  I  confess/ 

ith  tin-  ut  m.  »:  Friendship  true 

Reg:i:  id  v.-arm,  and  nuich  t<iiidi>rness,  too, 

Was  1'  ;  :uid  word  ;   and  yet,  he 

•    'i  much  as  kissed  me! 
d  how  unjust  I  had  boon, 
By  an  imprnj.  ihing  to  him, 

i 
;   and  his  h«  :.  '..»..k  indeed! 

i.-li  im-li: 

ihis  ca:---,  at  l.'ii-t,  I'm  sui-f,  l«i\-i-  is  not  Mind. 

so  tme  ! 

ll    p'-ril   li.-i-ll,  tOO, 
And  thank  .       For  i:  i  I  /"'  proved  to  l>€ 

Leas  1  i  :.••  i.  :.,|.te«l  me— 

I  know  not  —  I  might  1.  ;th  to  rourt, 

And  natural  virtue  been  roused  to 


STOLEN    WATERS  20fi 

But  I'm  thankful,  at  least,  that  1  then  was  nt  t  tried, 
And  that  I  have  at  length  all  his  goodness  descried, 

I  stood  talking  with  Bella,  my  friend,  at  her  gate, 
And  still  hoping,  although  "  my  love  he  was  late ! " 
When  I  saw  him  approaching.     My  heart  gave  a  bound 
And  stood  still,  as  I  entered  the  house  and  sat  down, 
And  endeavored  my  turbulent  pulses  to  calm, 
While  I  waited  his  coming,  and  knew  that  the  man 
Whom   I  love  "  with  a  love  passing  knowledge,"  woul« 

soon — 
His  dear  self — be  beside  me  in  this  very  room. 

He  has  moved  up  to  Harlem ;  next  door,  I  believe, 
To  his  father.     He  went  about  six.     All  the  eve 
My  head  has  ached  fearfully  ;  so,  without  lights, 
I've  sat  in  the  window  and  dreamed.     And  the  night 
Is  perfectly  lovely ! 

One  more  happy  day  I 

Yet  a  happiness,  doubtful,  somewhat,  I  must  say. 
He  said  he  would  come  out  again  the  next  week. 
God  bless  him  to-night,  and  from  all  danger  keep  I 


August  5th,  1865. 

SATURDAY. 

Can  it  be  that  but  yesterday  he  was  with  me  ? 
Fhat  my  hand  was  one'  more  clasped  in  his,  and  that  h* 
rested  his  dear  head  awhile  on  my  knee  ? 


206  STOLE 'X   J  r 

For  he,  world-weary  man — In-,  my  indolent  boy, 

A  my  lap  must  employ 

:>illow.      Am  Mm-  to-day  !   thoughts  of  "  what  migh< 
I  lav.'  1»<  close  on  my  heart,  that  in  spite 

Of  u:ysrh'  1  am  sad.     1  expected,  to-day, 
A  tote  from  my  late  correspondent.     Must  say, 
Though  none  was  received,  I  cared  not ;  for,  as  long 
As  h«  is  "  my  own,"  what  besido  can  I  want? 
My  dear  one  1  yet  not  mine,  and  never  can  be. 
But  I  must  not  dwell  uj...n  this;  it  makes  me 
Too  entirely  unhappy.      Ah,  truly!     "  The  grief 
Of  affection  bet  raved  is  hut  tame  and  brief 
Beside  a  forbidden  love's  utter  despair!  " 
(tod  pity  and  love  me  is  my  earnest  prayer. 


Augutt  6<A,   1865. 

SUNDAY. 

One  more  breaking  out  of  the  old  wound !     To-day 
I  have  Ix-en  f.ir  m-.r«-  mi.-'iaKle  than   I  can  say. 

1  been  OUt  I    h.irdly  liave  left 

i  for  houi 
note.      Could  not  writ* 

a  mifjht 

An>I  chokes  me,  and  tills  my  ;•  ><»•  heart 

i  Badness  BO  often  ?     Indeed  !  we  mutt  {tart ' 
I  most  give  him  up;  he  rai.  mine! 

I  am  very  unhappy  if  he  i^  unkind, 


STOLEN   WATERS,  20? 

And  if  proofs  of  affection  he  gives  me,  then  \  noughts 
Of — not  what  I  have  lost,  but  of  what  I  cani.ot 
Ever  gain,  and  that  he  is  not  only  not  mine, 
But  another's  instead,  rushes  on  me  at  times, 
With  such  force  as  completely  to  overwhelm  me, 
And  my  self-control,  hardly-won,  break  down  utterly  ! 


September  12th,  1865. 

TUESDAY. 

Has  more  than  a  month  been  since  I've  written  here, 
And  within  that  short  time — oh,  what  ages  of  fear, 
Hope,  pain,  and  suspense  I've  endured  and  lived  through. 
I  thought  I'd  before  been  most  wretched,  'tis  true ! 
But  nothing  that  could  in  the  least  be  compared 
To  this,  have  I  ever  experienced.     There 
Has  day  after  day  been,  when  all  I  have  felt 
Was  a  longing  desire  for  "  escape  from  myself, 
And  oblivion  of  time."     When  from  this  to  that  place, 
With  a  quite  tearless  ey,  but  a  white,  anguished  face, 
Have  I  wandered  ;  now  pausing  awhile  in  my  room, 
Drawing  down  the  blind  close,  and  with  darkness  and  gloon 
Replacing  the  sunlight  that  mocked  my  despair — 
On  my  bed  for  awhile,  lying  silently  there. 
Then  crouched  on  the  floor  with  my  head  in  a  chair 
Down  stairs  in  the  parlors,  a  book  in  my  hand, 
But  the  purport  of  which  I  could  not  understand ; 
And  then  perhaps  playing  a  half-dozen  chords, 
Which  had  much  less  of  harmony  than  of  discord, 


208  STOLEN  WATERS 

Or  leaning  far  back  in  a  rocker,  in  vain 

Endeavoring  thus  with  the  turbulent  pain 

In  my  heart  to  keep  pace — Oh  !  my  God  alone  know* 

How  brimful  of  agony  to  me  were  those 

Few  weeks,  at  length  enoV.l  f.jvver.     It  seems, 

Looking  back  ou  it  now,  like  a  long,  fearful  dream  ; 

For  a  calm  luis  succeeded  the  storm,  or,  at  least, 

The  exhaustion  that  comes  with  severe  pain's  release. 

Two  weeks  I  looked  for  him  almost  every  day, 
And  vainly.      A  letter  he  wrote  then,  to  Bay 

• ,  somewhat  severe, 

On  t  ln.'ii  some  days  had  confined  him,  and  feared 

Twould  bo  several  more  before  he  should  1x3  out 
.;ly;   wa.s  'lit  home;   whrn  about, 

;his  renewed, 

•  t»o.       (  hie  more   week  ensued, 

,'-n  I  began  to  expert  him  ugain. 

in  town  \\.-nt,  with  I'.i-lla,  my  friend, 
And  80  at  the  store  rull«-d,  in  onl.-r  that  lie 

•  uld  be 

to  go  over  t  .  II. 

he  was  lint  in.     'I;  i»-enout 

more  than  an  h.mr,  ami  ihtful  about 

Hia  again  <  •,  then, 

!   1  rt-.iel..  .:ml  1'iMind  out  he  : 

.   I   tho'ight 

To  end  my  suspense  I'.i  > re  attempt, 

Or  at  least  ascertain  if  ho  really  u 
To  como  out  or  not ;  so  I  called ;  he  was  in, 
§o  bu«y  I  had  but  a  few  words  with  him 


STOLEN  WATERS,  209 

He  said  he  intended  to  come  out  that  day. 

But  had  so  much  to  do  he  could  not  get  away 

Had  had  some  reverses  in  business,  and  then 

Was  not  his  own  master.     I  had  that  A.M. 

A  letter  from  mother  received,  saying  she 

Should  be  home  the  next  Thursday.    I  told  him,  at,d  he 

Said  that  he  would  come  over  that  day,  if  he  could ; 

Could  not  say  with  positiveness  that  he  should  ; 

But  would  unless  business  prevented.     But  I 

Then  gave  up  his  coming ;  and  Thursday  passed  by 

And  I  did  not  see  him. 

The  next  morning  brought 
From  mother  a  letter,  and  stating  she  thought 
She  should  visit  Boston  before  she  came  home  ; 
Consequently,  should  some  two  weeks  longer  be  gone 
And  one  from  him  also,  and  saying  that  he 
Intended  that  day  to  get  over  to  B., 
But  found  it  impossible ;  as  he  was  quite 
With  visitors  over-run,  and  had  beside 
His  hands  full  of  business,  and  knew  not  at  times 
Hardly  what  he  was  doing.     And  then  wrote,  in  fine, 
"  D<rn't  feel  cross  with  me,  though,  I  have  got  a  head  wind 
But  hope  for  fair  weather  again,  by  and  by  !  " 
This  rather  brought  me  to  my  senses  ;  and  T 
Felt  ashamed  that  I  liad  been  so  cross  with  him  then — 
Thus  adding  unto  Ids  annoyances,  when 
tie  already  was  quite  over-burdened,  although 
I,  of  course,  did  not  know  he  was  troubled.    And  so 
I  fully  resolved  that  another  cross  word 
[  would  nevermore  send  him,  whatever  occurred 
When  I  could  not  write  pleasantly,  I  would  not  writ* 


210  :/£& 

My  mother  and  Gertie  arrived  home  to-night, 
And  the  mis'rable  p;ust  I  am  trying  to  seal 
From  sight,  in  my  heart's  darkest  corner ;  but  feel 
Its  effects  will  not  be  quite  so  easy  concealed. 


September  19<A,  1865. 

TUESDAY. 

To-morrow  our  place  of  abode  we  shall  change, 
Aii'l  I  sh.ill  write  "  home"  in  a  house  new  and  strangai 

•lit,  fur  tint  hust  time,  I  sleep  in  this  room, 
Ami  II-HVL-  it,  with  many  regrets.     Just  as  soon 
•  •u ml  a  place  )  -oiled  ions  of  him 

ily  mid  sweetly,  we've  been 
:ii-l  in  u  nt«w  place,  to  begin 
Our  homr  lift-,  and  tln-ivin  our  home  altars  rear. 

ii.ip.!      'rii..u-ht>,  i.f  him  ;m>  not,  I  foar, 

UK- ;   ami.  although  I  liavn  to-day, 
'1  itppearance,  been  li\  .iy, 

A  it  iiin  ; 
of   him, 

Many  times 
Tears  mi)  ,  an<l  I  lind 

\v  'twould  not  do 
forced  back,  and  none  knew 
Or  dreamed  of  the  jmin  1  was  hiding  so  well. 
Many  tilings  occur  daily,  -jf  him  to  impel 
Remembrance;  and  when  I  begin  to  forget 


STOLEN   WATERS.  211 

Some  light,  trifling  thing  will  bring  all  back,  with  yet 
Greater  force  renewing  each  banished  regret. 


November  2d,  1865. 

THURSDAY. 

The  morning  my  birth-day  again  ushers  in  ! 
And  with  it,  of  course,  a  new  year  I  begin, 
With  most  earnest  hopes  that  its  record  may  be 
More  tranquil  than  this  one  has  been.     Yes !  I  see 
That  is  what  I  desire — a  calm,  after  the  dark, 
Stormy  night ;  and  sweet  peace  for  my  sad  troubled  heart 
But  when  1  shall  have  it,  our  God  alone  knows. 
But  not  'till  I  cease  to  do  wrong,  I  suppose, 
And  learn  to  do  right.     It  is  so  hard  to  feel, 
At  all  times,  that  "  all's  for  the  best !  "  hard  to  kneel 
And  kiss  with  submission  the  hand  that  would  smite. 
The  last  year  passed  swiftly  away.     If  I  might, 
I  would  not  recall  it ;  some  parts  have  been  quite 
Too  unhappy.     I  have  not  recovered,  as  yet, 
From  the  anguish — or  rather  its  blighting  effect — 
I  endured  iu  those  drear  August  days.     And  must  say, 
I  could  fancy  myself  ten  years  older  to-day 
Than  I  was  at  that  time.     I  look  back,  too,  and  feel 
With  surprise,  what  'twere  vain  to  attempt  to  conceal, 
How  much  deeper,  more  tender  my  loA'e  is  for  him 
Than  'twas  three  months  ago.     And  yc  t,  I  within 
These  pages  still  hope,  ere  a  year  from  ko-night, 
Of  the  end  of  this  unhappy  passion  to  write. 


<)LEN  WATERS. 


Daxmber  31s*,  1865. 

SUNDAY. 

Fve  written  "  eighteen  sixty-five,"  I  suppose, 
For  the  last  time  this  year.     And  I  write  at  its  close 
One  more  anniversary  to  commemorate, 
The  dearest,  and  sweetest  of  all  !     When,  elate 
With  the  joy  of  his  presence,  I  had  not  a  thought 
I  Jut  that  he  was  with  mo.     And  how  fully  fraught 

;hc  monn-uts  with  ^hulness  !     Yet  /did  not  dream 
Tim  ml      I  low  strange  that  I  could  not  have  seem 

Meant  —  such  iufatu  1'Lit  day 

Was,  without  :i,  I  think  I   may  say, 

.-ne  of  my  lift-;   one  which  had 
No  i  A  rcathed  with  the  sweet  of  its  glad 

Hujij.v  moments  —  just  two  years  agol 

It  lias  been 
More  than  four  months  since  I  have  had  one  glimpse  of  him 

his  birth-day,  some  two  months  ago, 
i.  e—  on  the  last  anniversary,  though, 

r  correspondence's  commencement.     To  these 

tin  nigh  pleased 

iso  should  Live  been  to  htivo  had  one.     To-night, 
••  of  two  yeart  ago,  1  Khali  v, 

i  roe  weeks  I  have  quite  ceased  to  grieve, 
•••en  so  ch-  •  i  ful  for  months.     But  last  «v» 

ol<l  Iiillows  once  more 
art,  breaking  down,  as  of  yore, 
All  th"  l»:i  ..a  self-control 

Had  attempted  to  rear,  again  flooding  my  soul 


STOLEN  WATERS.  213 

With  the  bittei  and  turbulent  waters.     At  times 

It  is  so  hard  to  feel  he  can  never  be  mine, 

But  is  always  another's  !     The  Colonel,  my  dear, 

Kind  friend,  does  a  great  deal  my  sad  heart  to  cheer  j 

And  his  letters,  so  frequent  and  loving,  to  me 

Of  inestimable  value  have  long  come  to  be. 


January  4<7i,  1866. 

THURSDAY. 

This  day  should  be  marked  as  a  "  red-letter  day  1  w 
It  has  been,  oh,  so  happy,  and  yet,  in  some  ways, 
So  miserable  also  !     The  bitter  and  sweet 
In  my  cup  invariably  meet  and  compete. 
The  carrier  brought  me  a  letter  this  morn, 
From  my  love!    And  'twas  not  short  and  cold,  but  more 

warm 

And  pleasing  than  any  before  I  have  had. 
While  its  contents  perusing,  tears,  happy  and  glad, 
Welled  up  to  my  eyes,  and,  unheeded,  brimmed  o'er. 
I  glanced  with  haste  through  it,  then  turned,  and  once  men 
With  loving  delight  read  each  word.     On  my  mind 
Slowly  dawning  a  consciousness  for  the  first  time, 
The  thought  that  it  was  barely  possible  he, 
My  love  and  my  darling,  might  also  love  me. 
I  scarcely  can  credit  it ;  dare  not  believe 
riiat  it  can  be  true. 

Ho  wrote  he  had  received 
Mine  the  previous  day,  and  intended  tc  write 
At  once  ;  but  was  called  off  before  he  1>  «d  quite 


214  ')LEN    WATERS. 

Got  s  nd  BO  was  obliged  to  forego 

Until  that  time.      Hi-  Mamed  himself  much — said 
That  he'd  not  befoiv  written  in  answer  to  mine; 
Had  honestly  meant  to,  but  from  time  to  time 
Had  deferred  it,  till  ho  was  ashamed  to,  and  then 
Was  fearful  that  it  would  not  reach  me.     Again 
And  again  he  most  kindly  ;ussured  me  I'd  not 

,  I  was  not  to  think  it ;  had  thovght 
Of  me  very  ofton  ;  and  that  he  would  like 
Very  much  to  sou  mo  ;  also  said  it"  I'd  write, 
And  at  the.  I.,  make  an  appointment,  and  soon, 
But  not  'till  a  late  hour  of  some  afternoon, 
H.M  k<->-ji  i\  if  ]••> -.;!,!,•.      /  must  not  be 

i,  although,  if  he  should  not;  as  he 
Was  •  .inres  dependent. 

I've  been 
:  to  go  East  this  winter — within 

hall  go. 

urse  told  him  BO  ; 
So  when  I  am  going  he  wishes  to  know, 

Ami  In-  says  that  he  certainly  must 
Bee  mo  ere  1  shall  leave.     And  I  .1  trust, 

!      And  then  he 
'es: 

"  I>o  not  think  hardly  of  me, 
>dge  me  unkindly.     Tin  not  what  I  seem 

many  ways,  and  would     ,-.  many  things 
That  1  dan;  not,  and  possibly  .>' 

I  am 

80  glad,  ii  ii  cross !     But  how  can 

i        p  thinking  h-j  lovea  me?     If  I  only  knew 
That  ho  did --  though  'twould  bo  "  stolen  waters,"  'tis  tcn«- 


STOLEN   WATERS.  218 

• 

I  could  then  separation  or  silence  endure — 
Anything,  if  I  could  of  his  love  but  be  sure  1 
Thus  the  New  Year  again  brings  me  happiness  pum 


January  18th,  1866. 

THURSDAY. 

Is  it  possible  that  in  my  journal  this  eve 
I  write  for  the  last  time  in  Brooklyn  ?     And  leave 
To-morrow  the  place  endeared  to  me  by  so 
Many  sweet  recollections  ?     And  although  I  know 
That  it  is  the  truth,  I  cannot  bring  my  mind 
To  realize  it  as  a  fact. 

For  some  time 

I've  written  so  seldom  and  briefly,  I  find 
I  neglected  to  state  that  some  ten  months  ago 
My  brother  to  Boston  removed,  and  also 
That  father  has  been  there  some  months,  and  intends 
To  have  us  all  go  in  the  spring.     Of  course,  then, 
I  shall  not  return.     And  my  last  moments  here 
Are  shadowed  by  u  disappointment  severe. 
I  made  an  appointment  not  qxiite  two  weeks  since, 
And  which  he  failed  4 

That  he  was  not  in  fault,  I  did  not  feel  cross, 
Although  disappointed,  as  he  doubtless  was. 
I  am  going  away  sooner  than  I  have  been 
Intending  to  do ;  consequently,  wrote  him 
To  that  effect ;  also  appointing  again 
For  Tuesday  an  interview  ;  but  it  rained  then, 


210  STOLEN   WATERS. 

And  I  did  not  go.     Yesterday  I  went  in 
And  stopped  at  the  store.     On  inquiring  foi  him, 
To  my  consternation  as  well  as  surprise, 
That  he  was  at  home,  sick  in  bed,  was  apprised. 
Thus  again  were  my  dearest  hopes  blighted ;  and  I 
To  Brooklyn  and  home  forced  to  murmur  good-by, 
With  no  farewell  word  from  my  love,  whom  I've  not 
ire  weary  months  once  beheld.     Oh  !  the  thought 

;iks  my  heart  !      It  is  cruel,  I'm  sure, 
And  bitterly,  bitterly  hard  to  endure. 
To  my  brother  a  letter  I'd  written  that  day, 

•:ding  to  mail  it  thai,  evening,  to  say 
I  should  be  there  to-morrow.     I  stood  a  long  time 
At  tL  .  ith  it  in  my  hand,  half  inclined 

Not  t"  ;  hem,  iiu  ' 

aid  not  come  on.      Looking  forward  with  dread 

from  home  while  my  darling  was  ill, 
With  no  hopes  of  him,  as,  until 

he  was  well,  I  would  not  dare  to  write ; 
'•*  knew  not  where  to  address.     Well  I  might 
Hohi'  .o  reason  I  could  not  state, 

Twaa  too  late, 
,'th,  t"  turn  back  ;  so  I  sent 
:ind  then,  with  an  aching  heart,  went 
nd  tin-  nL'ht  with  my  friend  Annie  Hpent 

She  lii<l    v  :      •   'is,  :.!:•!   the   \\holo  CVO  WAS  to  me 

On)  loog  torture ! 

And  now,  a  sad  farewell  to  B  ? 


STOLEN   WATERS.  211 


March  Slat,  1866. 

SATURDAY. 

The  first  month  of  spring !  and  my  record  again 
Is  in  Brooklyn,  and  home !    I  imagined  that  when 
I  once  more  was  here  I  should  quite  happy  be; 
But  there  is  BO  much  of  him  to  remind  me, 
That  it  keeps  me  sad  constantly.     Then  I  have  not 
Been  well,  either,  since  my  return,  and  no  doubt 
That  my  spirits  helped  some  to  depress.     Father  thought 
When  I  left,  it  was-  doubtful  extremely  about 
Our  moving  to  Boston  this  spring.     Gertie,  too, 
Was  quite  ill,  and  they  were  "  so  lonely,"  I  knew 
That  I  ought  to  go  home,  and  was  glad  so  to  do, 
Although  every  effort  to  render  my  stay 
In  B.  pleasant  was  made ;  and  indeed,  I  must  say 
Was  unhappy  much  less  than  I  feared  I  should  be  j 
And  Fannie,  my  sister,  returned  home  with  me. 

Of  course,  of  or  from  my  friend  naught  I  had  heard 
And  was  anxious,  exceedingly,  too,  for  some  word. 
So  when  I  was  home  a  few  days,  I  went  in, 
And  called  at  his  place  for  some  tidings  of  him. 
Found  he  had  been  ill  all  the  time  I  was  gone ; 
But  was  better  then,  and  would  be  out  before  long. 
£u>out  a  week  later  was  in  town  once  more, 
And  having  occasion  to  call  at  the  store, 
To  purchase  a  book,  casually  inquired 
Tf  he  was  within,  with  no  thought  the  desire 
10 


ills  STOU-:.\  n 

• 

Of  ia>  heart  would  be  granted  fulfilment.     W«ts  glad 
T<»  It-am  that  ln-'d  l»'rn  down  that  day,  though  he  had, 
The  ch-rk  said,  just  gone  out     Some  days  after,  we  m*4 
fu  New  York,  on  Broiulway  ;  b-it,  to  my  great  regret, 
He  had  with  him  a  gentleman — Fan  was  with  me — 
So  content  with  HUM.-  ^n'.-ting  was  I  forced  to  be. 
Nothing  but  aggravation  was  that,  when  not  once 

1  seen  my  darling  in  seven  long  months. 
Thru  I  wrote;  but  receiving  no  word  in  rejily, 
Went  in  to  sec  liim.      II«;  was  cordial  ;  but  I 
Was  quite  cool  at  first,  'till  I  found  ho  had  not 
Been  able  for  months  to  read,  writ.-,  or  do  aught 
Of  tin-  kind.      His  phyM'-ian  forl»adr  it,  and  feared 
a.s  long  ni 

.Irprivi-  him  of  sight. 
Cod.  in  His  infinite  mijjht, 
And  1  !  suppose 

H  when  prostrate  with  thoM 

and  he  says 
t°»rdayg; 

-vh.-M  san  ,-lit  nor  sound 

ii. lily  'round. 
anif  thing 

liiiu  so  lon-4  in  th<-  wi-urisoiiH!  spring 
'i  years  ago;  !>Mt  1.  Mi-Twiso 

••  .luiiful  eyea, 
I 

II"   ..ii.l  h"  wrote  me 

T«st  week,  ju.st  us  w.-ll  a.s  In-  could,  although  h.« 
Wa«  fnarful  tl  I  n<>t  n-ad  it,  tuid  thought 

It  wan  doibtful  if  he  could  hiiusi-lf.      lie  forgot 


STOLEN   WATERS.  219 

My  addross,  and  so  it  to  the  post-office  sent ; 
And  I  called  there  to  get  it  as  homeward  I  went 
Twas  written  in  pencil,  and  all  sorts  of  ways, 
And  formed,  to  the  usual  neatness  and  grace, 
With  which  he  is  wont  his  nice  letters  to  trace, 
Quite  a  contrast  indeed. 

He  told  me  that  one 

Of  my  letters  was  sent  to  the  house ;  it  had  come 
To  the  store,  at  the  time  he  was  absent — at  home. 

Mrs. thought  that  it  "  looked  like  a  lady's  fine  hand.* 

'Twas  quite  likely  a  bill,  he  made  her  understand. 
He  does  not  come  in  town  until  late,  he  told  me, 
And  leaves  the  store  early.     How  nice  it  must  be 
To  have  hin»  at  home  so  much !  though  perhaps  she 
Does  not  care  about  it  as  I  should.     But  this 
I  must  not  dwell  upon,  a  topic  that  is 
Forbidden  to  me. 

I  was  quite  calm  that  day 

In  my  interview  with  him,  and  have  been,  I  must  »y, 
Ever  since.     Can  it  be  I  am  loving  him  less  ? 
Oh,  would  it  were  so !  dare  not  think  it,  tho',  lest 
I'm  again  overwhelmed  before  I  am  aware 
With  its  might  and  intenseness,  its  bitter  despair, 


April  27th,  1866. 

FRIDAY. 

I  saw  my  dear  friend  about  two  weeks  ago, 
When  was  made  at  the  L.  an  appointment,  although 


*2C  <)LEN    WATERS. 


He  taAid  if  I  can.e  in  he'd  like  me  to  call 

At  the  store  on  my  way.     But  I  do  not  at  all 

Like  to  go  there,  and  told  him  so  also,  but  he 

Insisting  upon  it,  I  could  hut  agree. 

The  day  previous  to  that  \\v  appointed,  a  note 

From  him  I  received,  and  in  which  ho  then  wrote 

ight  be  away  t  lay,  but  if  not 

Hi-  would  at  the  store  be,  about  three  o'clock. 
Hesitating  awliile  about  going,  at  last 
I  decided  I  would;   it  was  just  quarter  j»ast 
When  I  cut.  -red  hi>  place  ;  on  inquiring  for  him 
Was  informed  he  hud  stepped  out,  but  soon  would  Vie  ia 
Supposing  of  course  (hat  such  word  he  had  left, 

d,  until,  quite  ber 
<  >f  |  !   p.tper  inquired  for,  and  wrote 

i  haste  a  few  lines,  of  course  leaving  the  note. 
I  UW--  nprised  at  how  rvW/y,  though,  1 

nd  not,  as  in  days  now  gone  by, 
Feel  at  all  cross  with  him,  neither  was  I  so  much 
M  ofi.-n  I  am  under  Midi 

:.ees.     I  feel  quite  eaootiragedl     Before 

•  UL'lit   I  \\a.s  not  .jiiite  n  much  :LS  of  yore 
<  liim,  Kut  oil  \v, 

11  him,  has  dispelled,  il  is  true, 
All  i  .   •    '  :    but  it  has  stood 

••    •   .      I      .1     n  •••  d  with  mv.M-lf,  that   I  should 

SO, 

-  Know, 
Or  think,  th;,t  in.      A  f«;w  dart 

,  wlien  ho  su>'» 
1  1"  v  •  it  day  purposely  to  »ee  me. 

>ug  there  ai  the  Ktot  •  'till  twelve  minutes  past  three, 


STOLEN   WATERS.  231 

then  returned  home  again,  as  he'd  some  men 
A.t  work  on  his  place,  and  his  presence  with  them 
Was  required.  He  would  see  me  this  week. 

In  replty, 

I  wrote  that  I  thought  it  was  doubtful  if  I 
Would  be  able  to  come  in  this  week ;  if  I  could, 
That  I'd  let  him  know,  but,  that  I  certainly  should 
Wot  call  at  the  store.     Near  the  close  I  wrote,  though, 
If  lie  made  an  appointment,  I  thought  I  might  go, 
And  to  do  as  he  liked.     But  it's  now  Friday  eve, 
Ajid  he  has  not ;  indeed,  though,  I  hardly  believed 
That  he  would.     But  I  think  the  time  will  come  when  he 
Will  make  an  appointment,  and  anxious,  too,  be 
That  I  should  fulfil  it.     And  I'll  wait  and  see. 


April  28th,  1866. 

SATURDAY. 

I  dreamed  all  the  night  of  my  friend,  and  to-day 
The  carrier  brought  me  a  letter,  to  say 
He  would  be  at  the  L.  about  five  tlri«  ;.«r. 
So  he's  made  an  appointment !    That's  something  that  whei 
I  wrote  here  last  night  that  he  should  do  sometime 
I  dreamed  not  would  happen  so  soon.     To  my  mind 
That  was  proof  he  was  wishing  to  see  me,  as  he 
Must  have  seen  by  my  note  'twas  a  matter  to  me 
Of  indifference.     So  I  proceeded  to  make 
My  toilet  with  haste,  fearing  I  should  be  late. 


222  STOLEN   WATERS. 

But  I  reached  th  •  L.  first.     He  came  scon,  and  re  •peal 
A  happy  hour  there ;  then  we  parted,  and  went 
Each  our  separate  way — he  desiring  to  see 
Me  again  very  soon,  and  I  happy  that  he 
Bh'tuld  have  and  express  such  a  wish. 

He  told  me 

He  sang  at  tho  "  <>/</  church"  last  Sabbath,  and  should 
To-morrow  as  well ;  I  shall  go  up.     It  would 
Seem  indeed  like  old  times  to  see  him  in  tho  choir. 
I  go  at  his  wish,  and  my  own  strong  desire  1 
I  asked  if  he  sat  in  the  "  corner  " ;  said,  "  yes, 
An  1  it  wot  i.i  o  to  be  there  1 "     Did  thoughts  of  B.  8. 
And  tli.-  ^we.-t  olden  time  make  it  nicer?     I  guess 
did  no;  harm  very  largely  detract. 

.  .1  must  pleasant  rhat  1 

I  allowed  him  to  hold  my  hand — gloved — in  his  own 
me. 

Ah,  my  h.-art!    where  has  flow* 
Thy  boasted  indiil'.  rent  coolness?     The  last 
Teat  was  f.  3tnoe  we  parted,  I've  passed 

Some  :  i  ;  luit,  weary  to-night, 

I  may  feel  .jn  i  morning's  clear  light. 


'!/  1st,  1866. 

TtTEaOAY. 

Have  been  very  unhappy  for  some  few  days  pant, 
And  not  quita  well  cither.     On  Sabbath  room  Iwrt. 


KTOLEN  WATERS.  223 

I  \ient  up  to  church.     I  was  early,  but  he 

Was  there  before  I  WHS,  and  given  to  me 

Weio  his  first  glance  and  smile,  when  he  came  oul  to  sing ; 

But  there  by  his  side  was  a  woman  I've  seen 

But  too  often  already,  and  that  I  would  fain 

As  long  as  I  live  behold  never  again — 

Mrs.  D.,  the  soprano,  I  always  disliked. 

We  had  spoken  of  her  on  the  previous  night, 

When  we  met  at  the  L.,  and  he  said  he  had  not 

Even  seen  her  since  sJie  left  the  choir.     If  I'd  thought 

That  she  would  have  been  there,  I'd  not  gone  one  step. 

Bhe  was,  though,  and  he  must  needs  sit  back,  instead 

Of  his  place  in  the  "  corner. "     It  made  me,  indeed, 

Most  provoked  and  unhappy ;  though  he  paid  no  heed 

To  her,  and  did  not  stop  to  speak.     But  my  eyes 

With  bitter  tears  filled  many  times ;  so  surprised 

And  so  disappointed  was  I !     I  had  gone 

Not  far  from  the  church  when  he  passed  me-  iiis  arm 

In  that  of  the  bass-singer.     Marked  pairo  he  took 

To  speak  as  he  passed  me.     How  handsome  he  looked ! 

Farther  down,  Mrs.  D.,  sweeping  by  me,  joined  them 

As  they  turned  down  Broadway,  walking  next  him,  though 

then 

He  was  on  the  outside.     That,  indeed,  was  the  lap', 
Bicter  drop  in  my  full  cup  of  wormwood.     They  passed 
From  my  sight,  and  I  entered  a  car,  homeward  bound, 
Sad  and  wretched  indeed.     But  that  day  has  torn  dcwn 
Every  barrier  rf  coldness,  indifference,  that 
I  had  fancied  was  raised.     Alas  !   'twas,  in  fac\ 
Only  fancy,  and  I  am  as  wholly  his  own 
To-day  as  I  ever  waa  — hi*,  his  alone  1 


"-M  ..       via 

This  morning,  from  Colonel  Allair,  I  received 
Just  the  nicest  rpistlo  he  has,  I  believe, 
K\'T  u  .  .•  •  m  •  '  DM  :   .dd  h:ul  no  slight  effect 
In  raising  my  spirits,  and  helping  to  check 
The  sadness  thru  weighing  me  down.     I  know  not 
Hardly  what   1  should  now  do  without  him;  bright  spot* 
Are  his  notes  in  my  weary  life.     In  all  respect* 
How  unlike  to  my  ot/ier  John  is  he,  and  yet 


June  Irt,  18GO. 

FRIDAY. 

I  went  up  to  church  a  few  Sabbaths  ago. 
My  friend  did  not  sing,  m>r  did  Mrs.  D.     So 

waa  naught  to  disturb  my  devotions.     Relie  ted 
.  i  ust  own  !     Some  days  HUICC,  I  received 

in  him,  and  a  nice  one.     Ho  writes, 
HIP-  nu  tV"in  Hostou  (In-  previous  night, 
severe,  and  was  then 

II     told  mo  that  wh«-n 

lie  saw  im-  up  '  Imn-h  WHS  the  last 

That  he  Sang;   ho  went  down  for  his  car,  and  <>u  mint 
Saw  mo  a.s  we  jMUWcd  «-ach  th 
Was  not  looking  that  w.<  did  ho,  by  Vhe  by, 

.  an  1  so  told  me  to  set 
At  rest  all  my  doubts,  and  show  me  he  was  yet 

love  and  my  darling?     While  with  Mrs.  D., 
I  imagined  he  was,  he  was  thinking  of  me, 


STOLEN  WATERS.  228 

And  watching  to  see  me  as  I  should  pass  by. 
Ok  1  Itow  many  times  I've  been  conscious  that  I 
Have  done  him  indeed  "  gross  injustice ! " 

He  wrote 

He  should  soon  find  occasion  to  see  me,  he  hoped, 
That  wo  might  have  a  confab  together.     I  sent 
Him  a  note,  telling  him  that  on  Wednesday  ma  meant 
To  be  absent,  and  asking  if  he  would  come  out. 
But  she  did  not  go,  as  it  rained  hard  about 
All  the  morning,  and  neither  did  he  come.     That  day, 
However,  he  wrote  me  a  letter  to  say 
That  he  wanted  to  see  me,  and  thought  that  he  might 
Appoint  Friday,  about  four  r.M. ;  but  that  night 
I  had  an  engagement,  and  to  that  effect 
I  wrote  him,  of  course  ;  but  with  after  regret 
That  I  had  not  kept  his  appointment.     To-day 
I  fulfilled  my  engagement ;  the  hours  passed  away 
Very  pleasantly,  though  I  of  course  at  the  time 
Could  but  think  that  I  might  been  with  "  Antony  mine,* 
If  I  had  not  been  there. 

He's  done  bravely,  of  late, 
Not  only  one,  but  two  appointments  to  make. 
I  wonder  if  there's  a  day  passes  but  he 
Sends  many  a  tender  thought  over  to  me  ; 
And  if  musings  of  me  are  both  pleasant  and  sweet, 
And  give  to  him  happiness  lasting  and  deep. 
I  never  shall  know  more  than  now,  I  suppose; 
He  is  so  reserved,  he  will  neve*  disclose 
Them  to  me,  or  reveal  me  the  depths  of  his  heart ; 
I  only  can  judge  by  a  passing  remark, 
An  occasional  word.     If  unable  to  read, 
He  must  of  course  think  some,  and  can  he,  indeed. 
10* 


226  STOLEN  WATERS. 

Help  thinking  of  one  much  and  often,  who  so 
Devotedly  loves  him  ?    He  must  care,  I  know, 
A  little  for  me  and  my  letters,  or  he 
Would  not  cling  to  them  so,  and  refuse  utterly 
To  give  them  up  ever.      I  s..id  the  last  time 
That  I  saw  him,  that  7n?V  U  tt.  r  give  me  back  miua, 
Lest  something  should  happen  to  him.     Ho  refused 
To  do  so,  and  said  they  were  sai\\     And  no  use 
To  urge  the  thing  farther,  I  saw  it  would  be. 
He  don't  liko  to  own  how  much  ho  cares  for  me. 
"  Oh  could  my  fond  ideas  reality  prove, 
And  one  blis>ful  IHOMI.  nt  pve  i:ie.  till  his  love, 
I  would  for  that  moment  my  life  freely  gi 

when  he  ceased  to  love,  I  no  longer  would  lire.' 


June  6*A,  1866. 

WEDNESDAY. 

I  hard:-.  I  so  happy  have  been, 

1  it,  :IH  within 
• 

You  must  know 
'  x  weeks  ago, 

ui's  wise  men," 
•  d  told  me  that  when 

e  was  out — which  it  would  bo  then  noon — 
lie  would  send  it  to  me.     And  so,  when  this  nooa 
The  <  .  ught  me  a  paper,  addressed 

In  ike  well-known,  handwriting  of  him  I  love  beet. 


STOLEN   WATERS.  227 

f  supposed  it  was  that ;  neither  was  I,  indeed. 

Disappointed  ;  but,  opening  it  with  all  speed, 

T  found  an  engraving  so  perfect,  it  seemed 

Almost  as  if  he  was  before  me.     Ma  deemed 

It  not  at  all  like  him  ;  but  she  has  not  seen 

Him  in  two  years  or  over,  and  doubtless  forgot 

How  he  looked.     And  that  he  too  has  changed,  it  cannot 

Be  denied.     I  have  marked  it  in  him,  and  it  is 

More  evident  still  in  his  picture.     There  is 

On  his  face  an  expression  entirely  unlike 

What  it  wore  but  three  short  years  ago  ;  then  'twas  bright 

Smiling,  happy,  and  careless  ;  but  now  there  are  linet, 

And  he  looks  sad  and  anxious.     I  cannot  divine 

The  cause — perhaps  business  cares,  illness,  a  mind 

Or  a  heart  that  is  troubled.     Whatever  it  be, 

He's  the  dearest  of  all  earthly  objects  to  me. 

"  I  ne'er  wake  at  morn,  but  his  name  ever  bounds 

To  my  heart,  the  first  hope  of  the  day.     Ne'er  kneel  down 

At  evening,  but  it  in  my  prayers,  whether  in 

Thought  or  speech,  mingles  too.     If  in  this  I  have  sinned, 

God  forgive  me  !  "  for  I  have  my  punishment  had, 

In  the  "  Consciousness  of  degradation,  the  sad 

Despair  which  a  woman  overwhelms,  when  she  dares 

Unwooed,  unrequited  to  love  L"     Yet  how  fair 

And  precious  to  me  is  my  love  !     All  the  day 

I  have  trembled  with  my  intense  happiness.     Yea, 

My  thoughts  constantly  turned  to  the  fact  that  at  last 

I  have  his  dear  picture  ;  at  each  thought  there  passed 

Through  my  pukes  a  thrL'l  of  exquisite  delight. 

Notwithstanding  this,  I'm  feeling  sad,  though,  to-nigh' v 

To  think  this  poor  semblance  of  him,  of  the  dear, 

Living,  loving  original's  all  that  I  e'er 


228  nLEN  WATERS. 


Can  hope  for  possession  of  1     Naught  but  a  bit; 
Of  flimsy,  insensible  paper.     Those  lips 
Can  yield  no  response  to  my  tender  caress  ; 
Those  eyes  cannot  change  from  their  sa<l  <>ai  neatness, 
Or  give  me  e'en  one  glance  of  love.     And  \vith  this 
I  intuit  be  content  !     Oh,  my  God  !  but  it  is 
•r,  this  burden  I  ever  must  bear, 
Of  a  helpless  and  vastvd  affection.     Oh,  there 
Are  tins'  s  when  it  seems  it  must  kill  rno,  this  weight 
At  in  hii-h  I'm  forced  constant  effort  to  make 

To  keep  back,  and  crush  down,  lest  some  cold,  carelese  eyi 
Shoii  :ui'>  read  the  tale   I   so  /.-alinisly  try 

To  conceal.      Tm  yet  youn<_r  ;  must  I  go  all  through  life 

the  curse  of  u  '  I'ifo 

In  my  heart,  blighted  hopes,  and  alfei-tion  unsoi 

irned  ?     O  !   (  lod  knows  that  a;_T  \  'vo  fought 

u!      My  love,  gliding  along 

So  amoo1  to  disturb  the  deep,  strong 

Seren  un-,  I'm  sure 

Can't  ima'-  ivetoen<i 

II  tig  before  me  !     Each  fine 

ilily  stamped  on  my  mind, 

And  imp:  :ny  heart  in-in  .urning  lines. 

The  8H  '\v,  and  the  ey<5S,  SO  sweot,  tt-ndt-r,  ami  kind 

vhoae  soft  touch  I  can  never  forget  ; 
i  the  poise  of  the  head,  the  hair's  careless  and  yet 
8nao  of  the  beard  and  mustache 

r  -and  ull  that  makes  up  the  fine  cast 
«>f  form  ui.  .re-  -are  painted  down  d 

In  my  hwirt'K  fain-.st  (  h.unbor,  in  colors  soft, 


STOLEN  WATERS.  2i)9 

And  eteinal.     Yet  ^tis  good  to  li&ve  even  this 
Pictured  semblance  of  him ;  and  I  own,  to  me  'tis 
Indeed  priceless.     While  looking  at  it,  I  can  ne'er 
Forget  that  those  eyes  have  looked  love  ;  that  those  dear 
Lips  have,  with  a  touch  that  no  others  can  e'er 
Resemble,  met  mine  in  love's  pure,  sweet  caress ; 
That  my  cheek  has  against  that  smooth  forehead  been  pressed< 
And  my  head  pillowed  on  that  broad,  true,  tender  breast 

But  midnight  approaches  !  My  book  I  must  close 
On  the  record  of  this  day,  and  seek  my  repose, 
With  thanks  to  the  destiny  which  has,  at  length, 
The  fulfilment  of  one  of  my  strong  desires  sent. 


Augusi  1st,  1866. 

WEDNESDAY. 

Two  months,  very  nearly,  since  I've  written  here ! 
But  though  I've  been  silent,  it's  not,  Journal  dear, 
Been  because  I've  had  nothing  worth  writing.     Instead, 
The  past  weeks  have  been  ones  of  strong  and  varied 
Emotions. 

I've  heard  people  say  they  could  not 
Keep  a  journal,  because  they  would  never,  they  thought, 
Have  aught  worth  the  writing ;  their  lives  were  so  tamo 
And  quite  uneventful.     I  can't  say  the  same  ! 
If  I  should  write  all  the  events  strongly  marked 
Which  occur  in  my  life,  in  fact  even  a  part, 
Twould  fill  volumes.     I'm  conscious  my  journal  ia  quite 
Incomplete  j  is  recording  alone,  of  my  life, 


230  STOLEN  WAfERS. 

That  part  which  is  inner  and  hidden — that  nons 

But  myself  ever  sees  ;  that  it,  too,  has  become 

An  escape-valve  for  long-pent  emotion  alone. 

Were  people  to  read  it,  to  me  quite  unknown, 

I  fear  they  -would  think  me  a  person  of  one 

Idea — despondent  and  gloomy.     But  though 

I  have  lost  the  extravagant  spirits,  whose  flow 

At  times  was  so  brilliant,  but  three  years  ago, 

Yet  I  often  am  cheerful,  and  lively,  e'en  now 

Though  not  very  gay  ever,  I  will  allow. 

But  I'm  sure,  did  they  know  how  completely  I  hice 

The  grief  which  sometimes  bursts  all  barriers,  they  might 

Their  opinion  of  me  somewhat  change. 

Ziove,  whick  in 

To  some  but  a  sentiment,  mere  transient  bliss, 
Tamely  felt,  tamely  lost,  or  at  pleasure  transferred, 
To  me  is  a  life's  one  "  grand  passion  " — oft  heard 
And  read  of,  but  seldom,   I  think,  known  or  seen. 
But  though  it  pervades  wit::  w.-,  t  sheen 

Every  fibre  and  pulso  of  my  heart,  yet  it  there 

o  written,  where 
It  by  each  passer-by  may  be  read;  and  although 

.in  all  my  th  •   has  no 

Part  or  place  e'er  in  my  con\  rr.vr 

Within 

.>t  •uritini.',  I've  been 

80  happy  aa  from  my  love  one  or  two  notes 
To  receive,  ai  •  f  the  latest  he  wrote 

Mino  had  just  rom<>  t<>  han<l ;  he  expected  to  get 
A  "  grand  scolding  "  from  me,  for  his  recent  neglect 
In  writing ;  he  knew  he  was  negligent  in 
All  hia  correspondence ;  but  that  he  had  been 


STOLEN   WATERS,  & 

Quite  unwell,  and  away  a  great  deal.     At  the  end 
He  writes  that  he  hopes  we  shall  meet  soon,  and  then 
Have  a  long  chat  together.     And  I  hoped  so,  too  1 
Then  adds — "  Don't  feel  hard  toward  me,  if  I  do 
Not  write  you  so  often,  or  much  as  you  like  i  " 
He  need  fear  no  "  scolding  "  from  me,  I  replied. 
I  gave  him  my  last  more  than  one  year  ago. 

I  was  surprised,  somewhat,  a  month  since,  or  so, 
At  receiving  a  letter  from  one  with  whom  I 
Once  flirted  a  little,  and  who,  by  the  by, 
At  the  time — about  four  years  ago — sent  to  me 
Some  notes  that  were — well  1  very  warm,  certainly ! 
I  then  liked  him  much  ;  but  had  not  seen  or  heard 
From  him,  until  then,  since  we  parted,  one  word. 
The  acquaintance  was  closed  amicably  at  the  time, 
By  mutual  consent.     I  was  quite  pleased  to  find 
I  was  not  forgotten ;  glad  also  to  hear 
From  him  once  again  after  so  many  years. 
The  old  correspondence  he  wished  to  renew ; 
To  this  I  objected,  acceding  unto 
Hia  desire  the  acquaintance  might  still  continue. 
Between  us  a  few  letters  passed,  and  he  came 
To  see  me,  of  course.     And  he  seemed  just  the  same 
As  in  the  old  time.     Indeed!  I  could  not  see 
As  he'd  changed  in  the  least ;  but  he  told  me  that  he 
Never  saw  such  a  change  as  there  had  been  in  me, 
And  my  letters,  as  well — that,  in  fact,  'twas  more  marked 
In  those  than  it  was  in  myself.     Not  but  what 
They  were  fine,  and  as  finished  as  ever,  he  thought, 
But  seemed  so  much  colder,  more  formal,  and  not 


232  STOLEN   WATERS. 

So  v  i  did  he  think  BO, 

Ami  ho  said,  "  It/.'  •;.<;  about  it.     I  know  I  * 

llo\v  .shock. '<!  I  one  evening  felt  at  the  receipt 
Of  one  of  his  notes.      '•  My  own  d  T-Sweet  !* 

Was  how  it  commemvd  ;  anil  I  cannot  describe 
The  feeling  which  passed  o'er  me,  as  I  descried 

•  tin'  head  of  a  letter  from  him. 
note  from  my  hand  dropped,  us  if  it  had  been 
A  live  coal  of  lire.      When  1  saw  him  I  a 
II  >w  he  came  to  write  that ;  and  he  said  in  times  paflt 
I  signed  one  of  mine  tlnis  (hut  that  w;us  before 

.  my  love),  and  he  thought  to  once  more 
Awake  oM  '  it  now. 

••••hat  bitterly,  I  must  allow, 
:itirely  unlike 

rite 

,sed  in  that  way.      I  had  liked 
iys,  as  I  vliilo — 

>  beguile 
"of  my  heart 
in  n-h.iiind,"  and  t  r.m>lVi  ring  a  part 

to  him.      He  came,  too, 
me  ;  wln-n  I  was,  it  is  true, 

st.-d  and  weary,  its  place 
I0t, 

tin  sooa 
resumed 

d  me,  ul  :   how  much  L» 

.4  to  mo 

The  cravings  of  heart,  or  of  mind,  or  supply 


WATERS.  233 

The  place  by  ray  darling  left  vacant,  and  brought 

Me  back  to  ihe  old  sweet  allegiance.     I  thought 

That  mere  strangers  'twas  best  we  should  be,  as  before, 

And  took  measures  accordingly.     Yet,  I  was  more 

Disappointed  than  I  can  express,  to  again 

Find  my  hopes  for  a  new  state  of  things  blighted.     Then 

With  that  came  despondency,  even  more  deep 

Than  usual.     Yesterday,  wretched  indeed 

Wao  I ;  and  I  felt  like  excluding  myself 

From  society  wholly,  and  breaking,  as  well, 

All  my  correspondence — in  future  within 

Myself  live  entirely  ;  to-day  to  begin 

The  new  life.    But  I  slept  o'er  it,  and,  as  the  morn 

In  roseate  splendor  from  darkness  is  born, 

So  to  yesterday's  night  so  profound,  gloom  so  deep, 

Succeeds  to-day's  glorious  sunshine. 

To  keep 

This  P.M.  with  my  love,  an  appointment,  went  in. 
I  was  late,  altho'  he  was  still  later.    I'd  been 
There  some  time,  and  was  just  about  leaving,  when  he 
At  length  came  in.    His  partner  was  out,  he  told  me, 
And  he  waited  for  him  'till  six  nearly,  and  then 
Left  at  once.    We  stayed  there  for  awhile,  and  then  "wen! 
For  a  walk.     By  the  way,  he  to-day  spoke  again 
About  seeing  me  in  the  car  that  day  when 
I  vas  coming  from  church,  when  he  sang  the  hist  tir  •  j 
And  said  his  surprise  was  not  much  less  than  mine 
At  Mi's.  D.  singing  that  morning.     He  bade 
Me  farewell  somewhat  hastily,  as  his  car  hud 
Already  passed  by  ;  bendiug  low  o'er  iny  hand, 
With  a  grace  all  his  own,  and  a  tenderness  grand 


234  STOLEN  WATERS. 

And  simple  as  well,  he  :  in  both 

Of  bis,  with  a  lingering  warmth,  as  if  loath 

'ease  it,  then  I  see  me  again, 

Ami  was  gone.     But  there  was  such  a  difference  whm 
He  was  with  me  to-day,  in  his  nmuner,  from  what 
There  was  ever  before — an  air  which  I  cannot 
Describe,  but  that  I  pi-ro-ivrd  plainly.     A  free 

1  in  his  bearing  to  me, 
Eat  i  iiul ;  and  never  did  I, 

liis  friendship  appreciate  more.     He's  seen  my 

t  (jualitic.s,  surely,  and  yet  is  "  still  true," 
Notwithstanding,  too,  all  I  have  done  or  can  do. 


August  17th,  18G6. 

KUli 

I  'i.  .  •     • .   I   think,  say,  \\  : 

i  nni'-li  longer  season  than  n -u  il  i  lapsed 

!  iti 
•.'1  that  his  dflay 

I'-ll 
Pleas  i<~h 

'  uta 

j;  would  amply  compensate.      Intent 
On  thin  t  ID  close,  then  ag»ia 

lo  the  head,  oud,  all  being  an  usual,  I  then 


STOLEN   WATERS.  235 

Prepared  -with  much  pleasure  to  read  it ;  but  down 

The  first  page  I  had  not  far  perused,  ere  I  found 

There  was  a  great  change.     It  was  e\en  more  fond 

Than  his  letters  in  general,  yet  he  goes  on 

To  say — while  expressing  unbounded  regret 

That  it  should  be  so,  that  he  thinks  'twould  be  best 

To  close  our  correspondence — the  reason  expressed 

Being  his  strong  desire  for  a  sweet  retrospect, 

And  his  fears,  if  continued,  between  us  there  might 

Come  something  to  render  the  mem'ry  less  bright 

And  pleasing  than  now.     I  might  think  this  to  be 

Inconsistent,  perhaps,  with  what  hitherto  he 

Had  written  ;  he'd  then  thought  to  leave  it  to  fate, 

But  now  feared  to  do  so  ;  he  knew  it  would  take 

From  his  life  its  sweet  charra — would  be  parting,  in  truth, 

With  a  piece  of  his  heart.     His  pen  almost  refused 

To  transcribe  the  words — much  like  that  in  effect. 

Hoped  that  some  time  it  might  be  renewed  upon  yet 

More  agreeable  terms  ;  should  he  e'er  visit  me, 

He  trusted  a  most  welcome  guest  he  should  be. 

But  if,  before  then,  the  time  should  be  s"o  long, 

His  desire  to  hear  from  me  sufficiently  strong 

To  his  silence  o'ercome,  begged  permission  to  write, 

Granting  me,  too,  the  same ;  said  he  hoped  that  he  might 

Be  allowed  to  retain  still  my  letters,  as  they 

Were  dear  unto  him  ;  I  might  do  the  same  way 

With  his,  or  auglit  else  that  I  liked. 

I  read  on 

To  the  end  of  the  fond,  cruel  letter,  though  long 
Before  I  had  finished  tears  blinded  my  eyes  ; 
And  I'd  reached  my  room,  scarcely,  ere  sobs  hard  and  dry 


236 


In  volumes  broke  forth  ;  neither  could  I  control 
Myself  in  the  least.     Twas  so  sudden,  the  whole 
Bo  quite  unexpected  !     I  ne'er  was  so  grieved 
In  my  life!     So  entirely  I'd  trusted,  believed 
In  his  truth,  never  doubting  him  once.     I  felt  there 
Was  for  me  nothing  but  disappointment,  despair  t 


Loving  with  supremo  ar.l-r  all  those  whom  I 
In  the  Isast  for,  I'm  constantly  wounded.     Oh  1  trouid 

;   that,  like  others,  I  c/oold 
Sometimes  keep  a  medium  course.      1 

i  happiness  lasting;  in  • 
My  or  u's  too  sensitive,  q 

ything  too  acu 

i  sorrow  as  well.      1  am  one  of  those  who 
<>ovc!  all  things,  all"  'oO, 

•  -  to  whom  iuat 

I  thing  vorth  l-'arijig  life  for,  iu  fhct, 

are  too  p 

;.usae«8; 
Too  : 
I 

yot-T 
Cann 

o  nni-h 
'  1  blow  swept 

And  i,  the  u  liole 

i»Mi 
Blighted  fru:nd.shi;  ImmblLiig  it  might 


STOLEN  WATERS.  287 

Be  to  mo.     But  with  my  self-command  once  regained. 
Grief  exhausted,  accustomed  reserve  again  came, 
And  I  crushed  it  all  down  in  my  heart,  buried  deep 
From  all  human  sight,  and  of  sympathy's  sweet 
Consolation  deprived.     But  this  kept  me  prostrate 
The  whole  day,  and  I  did  not  go  down  until  late ; 
And  with  eyes  then  so  swollen  I  scarcely  could  see, 
Throbbing  temples,  and  sad,  aching  heart.     Up  to  me 
Ma  and  Fannie  had  both  been,  and  anxious  to  know 
The  cause  of  my  grief,  but  I  begged  them  to  go 
And  leave  me  alone.     And  so,  when  I  that  eve 
Went  down,  I  took  with  me  the  letter  to  leave 
With  them  if  they  wished.     With  true  delicacy, 
Neither  mentioned  the  subject. 

The  colonel  wished  me 
To  write  in  reply,  and  I  did  so.     To-day 
I  an  answer  received,  and  it  was,  I  must  say, 
A  fine  letter  indeed  ;  and  he  said  he  had  thought 
Many  times  that  our  long  correspondence  could  naught 
But  a  bore  be  to  me.     In  its  closing,  the  loss 
Would  be  wholly  on  his  side,  and  so  tbat  it  was 
On  my  accoxint,  merely,  he  wrote  as  he  did. 
At  last  owning,  what  I  had  half  suspected, 
The  cause  was  my  writing  about  the  renewed 
Intercourse  with  my  old  friend  (I  spoke  of  to  you, 
In  my  last  record  here,  my  dear  Journal).     Of  that 
I  wrote  him,  as  I  anything  else  do,  in  fact, 
Which  interests  me,  never  dreaming  that  it 
Would  have  such  effect  upon  him,  I  admit. 
He  begged  me  to  answer,  and  said  he  should  wiitt 
Again  in  the  interim.     So  we,  to-night, 
ATM  just  as  good  friends  as  before. 


238  STOLEN  WATERS. 

I'm  perplexed 
To  discover  what  fate  has  in  store  for  me  next. 


October  3rf,  1866. 

WEDNESDAY. 

I  have  from  mj  love  received  two  or  three  note*, 
In  the  interval  which  has  occurred  since  I  wrote. 
And  one  which  he  sent  me  I  did  not  receive, 
Much  to  my  regret.     lie  addressed,  I  believe, 
To  the  office,  and  so  it  was  lost.     But  how  glad 
I  was,  when  to-day  I  another  one  had, 
And  such  as  he  never  has  sent  me  before. 
My  love  and  forbearance  the  last  year  or  more 
Have  not  been  in  vain;  and  1m  loves  mo  to-day, 
And  trusts,  and  respects  mo  much  more,  I  dare  say, 
Than  if  anger  and  sarcasm  I'd  n<>t  'repressed. 
Commenced  as  in  general :  "  My  dear  B.  S." 
And  fluid  that  upon  tin-  r-Tcijit  of  mv 
He  could  not  hut  1.1. HIP-  himself  that  there  had  paM0d 
Such  an  interval  since  ho  hud  written  to  nie  ; 
But  had  been  away  most  of  th«  time.     And  so  he 
Feels,  it  seems,  his  shortcomings,  now  I  utter  no 
>aches;vbut  whrn  I  found   fault  with  him  so, 
make  no  acknowledgments.     I'm  indeed  glad, 
For  my  sake,  as  well  as  his,  too,  that  I  had 
Resolved  to  write  no  more  cross  letters,  and  my 
Resolution  have  kept.     Farther  on  bo  writes — 

"I 

Can  but  say  that  it  is  real  pleasure  to  read 
Your  letter*  :  they're  so  entertaining,  indeed. 


STOLEN  WATERS.  231 

80  loving,  and  seem,  to  come  right  from  the  heart." 

How  delighted  I  was  at  this  earnest  remark! 

I  have  many  times  felt,  that,  instead  of  to  him 

Giving  pleasure,  they  must  very  often  have  been 

A  source  of  annoyance ;  and  though  they  could  be — 

Such  feelings — but  bitterly  humbling  to  me, 

I  still  sent  them  on,  with  faint  hopes  that  I  might 

In  answer  a  few  lines  receive,  did  he  write, 

Indeed,  never  so  coldly  and  formal.     But  now 

I  have  my  reward ;  for  my  darling  avows 

They  do  give  him  pleasure,  and  I've  learned  at  length 

That  lie  never  says  what  is  not  fully  meant ; 

The  confession,  beside,  half  unwillingly  seems 

To  have  come,  and  which  doiible  force  gives  it.     I  deem 

That  our  correspondence,  at  last,  has  become 

On  a  basis  established  more  pleasant  and  firm 

Than  it  has  been  of  late.     In  my  last,  I  a  kiss 

Sent  to  him  and  to  "  Bertie  "  (the  baby,  that  ^s), 

Telling  him  to  be  sure  and  deliver  it.     So 

He  writes  me  in  answer  : 

"  The  kiss,  which  you  know 
You  sent  in  your  letter  a  few  days  ago, 
Was  duly  delivered  to  Bertie  ;  but,  bless 
His  innocent  soul,  from  whence  came  the  caress 
He  indeed  little  knew." 

Since  this  note  I  received, 
How  mat^y  times  I've  fancied  him,  just  at  eve, 
After  his  return  home,  clasping  close  in  his  arms 
The  beautiful  child,  pressing  on  his  soft,  warm, 
Baby  lips,  a  fond  kiss  from  lips  none  the  less  sweet, 
Witt  thoughts  of  tlv.  love  for  him,  boundless  and  deep, 


240  STOLEN   WATERS. 

Which  had  sent  the  caress  to  the  unconscious  bojr-~ 
The  love  foi  him,  which  would  rejoice  in  his  joy, 
And  •  his  sorrow,  and  whirh  renders  dear 

All  the  objects  of  his  deep  afl  When  here, 

H  ago,  Lorette  asked  me  if  I 
Had  never  desired  that  thn  woman  would  die, 
Wlio  stands  1>  •  and  tin-  man  that  I  love. 

But  though  loving  him  with  a.  passion  above 
And  beyond  estimation,  1  thank  God  I've  been 
From  tl,  it  has  not  within 

My  mind  for  a  mom-nt  e'en  once  had  a  place. 
I  love  him  too  v.vll  to  de>iro  to  efface 
From  his  heart  .,r  hi ,  ln>ni>-  what  she  is,  or  had  ought 
Unto  him  and  his  children  to  be.      I  do  not 

•  to  see  tli  r  think,  I  must  own, 

Of  thorn  in  tin-  «•!<>  '  home — 

•veen  them.      But  those 

•  uUinak*'  me  unhappy,  and  never  d is] tone 
Mo  t<>  :•  to  him. 

Of  <  ;!  been, 

•  1  until  1  had  seen 

1  him     and  h  .  too,  I  wet'ii ! 

But  I  now  can  m  is  duo 

here  ;  bu'  >ke  was,  it  is  true, 

Unavoidable,     i 

>u  know 
eka  ago, 

:-d 

been  too  lat«- 

I  was  It  did  m-fin  like  old  times! " 

And  BO  hit  thoughts  sometimes  turn  to  sweet  "Auld  Ung 
•yne." 


STOLEN   WATERS.  241 

How  can  I  help  thinking  he  does  care  for  me  I 

That  I  am  dear  to  him,  in  some  little  degice ! 

His  manner  was  always  most  tender  and  kind, 

And  perhaps  it  may  be  a  fault  wholly  of  mine, 

That  so  brief,  cold,  reserved,  his  notes  ever  have  been; 

I've  been  cross  and  unreasonable  often  with  him, 

And,  dear  as  he  is,  from  him  I  could  not  bear 

What  he's  taken  from  me.     But  in  utter  despair, 

So  wretched,  and  chafing  so  under  my  bonds, 

I  sent  letters  sarcastic  and  bitter,  when  fond 

And  gentle  ones  would  have  been  better.     But  past 

Are  "those  days,  forever,  I  trust. 

In  the  last 

Of  the  colonel's  nice  letters,  in  one  place  he  says — 
"  What  a  blessed  thing  'tis  a  true  friend  to  possess' 
I  do  not  know  what  without  you  I  should  do  ; 
I  think  sometimes  my  '  guardian  angel '  are  you, 
If  such  things  can  be  ;  and  I  know  that  I  owe 
To  your  influence  all  that  I  am." 

And  if  so, 

If  I  some  slight  benefit  may  to  him  be, 
I  shall  not  have  lived  vuiuly.     My  life  seems  to  me 
Such  a  failure,  so  wasted  and  weary,  in  it 
Bo  much  disappointment  and  grief,  I  admit 
I  am  thankful  if  there's  even  one  that  can  say 
They  are  better  for  my  having  lived. 

Well!  to-day 

Our  pastor  called  here  and  I  gave  my  consent, 
'("hough  not  willingly,  very,  to  make  an  attempt 
At  teaching  a  Sabbath-school  class.     I  may  like 
When  accustomed  to  it,  but  was  fearful  I  might 
11 


242  STOLEN  WATERS. 

Find  it  irksome  to  feel  that  I  always  must  go— 

As  I  certainly  should — if  I  wished  to  or  no  ; 

Nor  do  I  feel  competent  either ;  and  so 

1  fain  would  refused  ;  but  he  would  take  from  me 

Nothing  but  a  consent.     I  do  like  to  be  free! 

Dou't  like  to  feel  ever  the  meaning  of  that 

One  little  word  "  mjts£."     I  suppose  that,  in  fact, 

iy  I  have  fretted  so  under  the  chains 
I  h-ivo  worn  for  three  y  irs  so  brimful  of  change 

"  From  even  love's  rosy  bonds  I  would  be  free  1 " 
And  yet  it  a  glorious  thing  seems  to  me, 
To  feel  one  h:us  such  capabilities  in 

>  in '4  ;  though  it  may  have  been 

riot  th;it,  still, 

Love  the  noblest  of  all  ?     Nearly  every  heart  will 
Respond  to  another's  deep  passion,  but  few 
Will  d.iiv  to  1  tln'iv  is  no  hope,  and,  too, 

Love  on  whate'er  come.     Such  airrtion  is  i 


October  24«/»,  1806. 

WEDNESDAY. 

Was  in  town  some  days  since,  and  called  twice  at   tki 
store. 

(•ast  weak  or  more, 

••  many  times  .  -t,  must  see  him, 

A  od  for  one  fond  caress  I  liave  really  been 
Almost  longing ;  have  no  hopes  of  having  it,  though, 
A»  we  ne'er  meet  al«nr-.     1  try  not  to  feel  so, 


STOLEN   WATERS.  243 

To  think  of  it  ev  m ;  but  out  of  my  mind 

I  can't  always  drivo  it.     My  heart  is,  at  times, 

So  hungry  for  some  of  love's  sweets  ;  and  I  get 

Not  much  but  its  bitterness,  pain,  and  regret. 

I  oft  think  of  the  time  when  I  used  to  see  him 

Every  Sabbath,  receive  in  the  brief  interim 

An  occasional  visit  from  him,  which  ga've  me 

Such  unalloyed  pleasure.     I  wonder  if  he 

"  Would  care  if  his  breast  was  my  shelter  as  then, 

And  if  he  were  here,  would  he  kiss  me  again  I  " 

Well,  my  dear  sister  Fannie,  who  came  home  with  ma 
From  Boston  last  spring,  will  return  soon,  and  she 
Insists  upon  taking  me  with  her.     But  I 
Am  not  wishing  to  go,  as  pa — who,  by  the  by, 
Returned  some  months  since — seems  determined  to  mov« 
Out  of  town  in  the  spring,  so  I  fear  this  will  prove 
Our  last  winter  in  B. ;  but  much  as  I  dislike 
To  go,  I  can't  seem  to  avoid  it.     Fan  quite 
Overrules  each  objection  I  offer,  and  so 
I've  at  length  with  reluctance  consented  to  go. 
I  suppo&e  'tis  one  more  phase  of  destiny  ;  seems 
To  me  nothing  less.     I,  of  course,  cannot  dream 
What  might  occur  should  I  not  go.     I  have  done 
With  struggling  'gainst  fate  ;  and  that  'tis  but  a  turn 
Of  her  wheel  which  to  Boston  this  winter  sends  me, 
I  indeed  can  but  think.     I've  no  wish  there  to  be, 
Had  no  hand  in  the  matter,  and  bound  so  I  am 
By  a  tissue  of  circumstances,  that  I  can 
Do  nothing  but  go.     Of  it  Colonel  Allair 
In  his  last  writes,  that  I  may  be  going  to  thwrw 


244  STOLEN   WATERS. 

Meet  my  "destiny."     Truly !  I  may,  or  my 
There  Ls  but  One  know  .ly  to  let 

Events  take  their  course  :ind  submit  with  what  grace 
I  can,  to  wh;i  ;ise 

From  my  heart  every  murmur,  as  far  as  I  may. 
But  yet,  when  I  feel  us  I  have-  done  to-day, 
It  seems  as  if  I  could  not  go.     I  would  like, 
Above  all  thin_'s  one  d.iy's  perfect  quiet,  and  quite 
Out  the  question  in  Funuie's  home  that  is. 

A  note 

To  myfrieiul,  telling  him  I  was  going,  I  wrote 
Some  days  since ;  and  I  made  an  appointment,  also, 
For  the  eve  of  to-morrow  ;  have  yet  received  no 
R<-|>ly  a«  1  hoped.     In  the  morning  may,  though. 


November  Ith,  1866. 

SUNDAY. 

Twould  R  volume;  re.juiro  to  write  down  here  to-night 

;iin>-,  tln.u;_'h,  is  limited  quite, 

And  1  mil  t  •  !.at  small  space, 

be  lu.st,  from  him 
in. 
;  to  go  homo  somewhat 

i^'ht 

1  did,  Baying  that 
Ttteiday  eve  was  the  last  1  could  m« - -t  him.     In  fact, 


STOLEN  WATERS.  24» 

I  wrote  rather  coolly,  and  felt  somewhat  vexed 

That  he  had  not  answered  my  last.     On  the  next 

Day  but  one  I  received  his  reply,  which  was  quite 

Satisfactory,  and,  just  as  much  ti  ue  delight 

Afforded  to  me  as  the  last  one  he  sent. 

My  other  he  said  was  received,  and  he  meant 

To  have  written  the  following  day ;  but  he  went 

That  eve  to  the  theatre,  and,  coming  home, 

Took  cold ;  had  been  sick  ever  since.     I  might  known 

There  was  cause  for  delay.     I  distrust  him  each  time 

That  he  disappoints  me,  and  I  yet  always  find 

That  he  is  not  in  fault.     I  shall  learn,  by  and  by, 

To  trust  him,  I  hope — learn  his  truth  to  descry. 

He  wrote  he  regretted  extremely  that  I 

Should  have  been  disappointed  on  Thursday,  but  still, 

It  could  not  be  helped,  and  then  adds  that  he  will 

Be  there,  if  he's  living  and  well,  Tuesday  eve. 

Should  expect  me  to  write  to  liim,  after  L  leave, 

He  says  near  the  close.     His  letter  was  long, 

For  his;   truly  kind,  and  in  fact  almost  fond, 

And  gave  me  a  feeling  of  perfect  content  I 

An  unusual  delight,  and  not  even  yet  spent. 

On  Tuesday  it  rained,  so  I  did  not  go  in. 
I  knew  not  but  that  the  appointment  by  aim ' 
Would  be  kept.     I  that  day  was  not  well  enough,  though. 
To  have  gone,  had  the  weather  been  pleasant.     And  so 
I  wrote  him  I  should  not  leave  town  'till  this  week, 
And  Thursday,  about  six  P.M.,  I  would  meet 
My  friend  at  the  L.     I  intended,  that  day, 
To  leave  home  in  season  to  stop  on  the  way 


246  <)LEN   WATERS. 

Al  his  place  ;  but  being  delayed,  I  did  not 
Reach  the  L.  until  two  minutes  past  six  o'clock ; 
Ajid  five  minutes  later  my  love  was  with  me. 
i  was  going  up  town  for  the  nii^ht,  and  so  we 
Did  not  stay  there.     A  carriage  was  waiting,  which  he 
Then  placed  mo  within.     'Twasa  beautiful  night. 
We  drove  juirt  the  distance,  and  then  thought  it  might 
Be  plea&anter  still  to  be  walking — so  thru 
At  once  put  our  thought  into  practice  ;  and  when 
From  the  carriage  he  lifted  me,  close  in  his  arms 
For  a  moment  he  held  mo,  and  then  pressed  a  warm 
But  somewhat  hasty  kiss  on  my  cheek — the  first  one 
I  have  had  from  his  lij>s  lor  throe  years.      We  walked  on, 
Going  out  of  our  way  a  short  distance  to  pass 
The  "  old  us  both  ;  thinking,  as 

We  in  silence  leam-ii  iron 

Maid  out  ,  of  tin'  time 

•'s  first  dream'1    i  \ud   when  turning 

away, 

He  said  'i  he  could  but  : 

That  ho  <  too, 

J"  tl.  I  Kaid,  "  Yes  ;  it  was  pleasant  when  you 

Used  t<»  sit  in  •  r,'  Imt  was  not  so  nice 

s.  D.  toe  k  your  seat  I  n 

He  replies : 
"<>h,i  'most  always  sat  1" 

Mm,  that 
'ion!'!  no- 
While  I  remained  absent.     " What!  o  ;•  glove?1* 
He  ii                                                            .  nj — the  one 
He  WM  holding — to  said  he  would  take  oifhU  own, 


STOLEN  WATERS.  247 

And  while  drawing  it  off,  he  between  his  dear  lips 

Placed  my  ring,  and  then  slipping  it  on,  with  a  kiss 

Scaled  his  wishes  for  me ;  and  the  rest  of  the  time 

Cu  his  warm,  ungloved  hand  with  fond  clasp  he  held  luinft 

To  hear  Madame  Eistori  was  going  that  eve, 

And  said  it  was  difficult  for  him  to  leave 

That  night,  as  some  friends  on  from  Boston  were  in 

At  the  store  when  he  left,  and  would  not  excuse  him, 

But  he  told  them  he  must  go,  agreed  to  meet  them 

Between  seven  and  eight  at  the  theatre,  then 

Left  in  haste.     And  he  said  he  came  up  to  the  L. 

When  we  made  the  appointment  for  Tuesday,  as  well. 

And  thought,  though  it  did  rain,  that  I  would  be  in 

As  I  left  town  so  soon ;  and  that  I'd  accused  him 

So  often  of  breaking  engagements,  he  meant 

To  keep  that  one,  if  through  fire  and  water  he  went. 

And  he  did  go  through  water  indeed,  for  it  poured. 

Said  he  sang  the  last  Sabbath  in  church,  but  the  word 

Again  did  not  get  until  too  late  to  send 

Out  to  me,  but  should  sing  the  next  Sunday  again, 

(That's  to-day),  and  of  course  I  consented  to  go. 

'Twas  not  at  owr  church  that  he  sang,  he  said,  though, 

But  at  an  Episcopal  on  the  same  street. 

Many  times  he  regretted  that  his  "  Bitter-Sweet " 

Was  not  there  when  he  sang  at  the  old  church. 

When  w« 

Reached  Aniiie's — where  I  was  to  stop — he  wished  me 
To  walk  on  a  short  distance.     Of  course  I  was  glad 
To  comply,  although  then  barely  time  he  would  had 
To  keep  his  engagement  with  promptness.     But  that 
Was  nothing  to  me,  if  he  felt  satisfied. 
We  were  on  the  same  street  where  I  used  to 


848  STOLE:  its. 

And  stood  on  a  corner  quite  near  my  old  home 

For  some  little  time ;  and  it  was  sweet,  I  own, 

To  stand  with  my  hand  clasped  in  his,  and  the  tone* 

Of  li  ite  voice  falling  soft  on  my  ear. 

Sweet  the  stolen  embrace  when  no  person  was  near, 

The  petting  so  i ,  the  perfect  content 

Which  his  m.-n-  presence  gave  me,  the  pure  joy  that  seat 

>t  but  of  happiness  out  of  my  heart, 
Thin  w  tiini)  was  Hying,  and  soon  we  must  part. 

A  as  all  the  eve  so  affectionate,  kind  ; 
II'-'-.:    i  ,ir "  once,  and  by  name  many  times. 

.:  me  by  it  before, 
nun  his  lips  now  with  more 
Ease  ami  natural  readiness,  if  it  had  been 

,iiliiir  "  household  word  "  with  him. 

sjM'uks  it,  more  as  a  caress 
li  ing  else,  aiiu  .  I  confess, 

ps. 

!!••  h  ;  •  never  appesred 
So  tender  li-ar 

v.-a,s  hU  attachment.      Alth« 

Always  ki  in  usually  so. 

leason  to  thii,  ir  to  him,  he 

mm  he  loves  me. 

ana 
\  •  i  . 
As  second  within  a  divid^l  heart?     ()>  . 

all,  or  none, 
i     •• 
A  moiety  of  hi*,  than  I  .vh«ih«  heart  1 

He  Hpoke  many  tin^-s  of  in  j  to  him. 

M  You'll  write  me  when  Boston  you  shall  arrive  in,* 


STOLEN  WATERS.  249 

Was  the  laut  thing  he  said.     It  was  past  eight  o'clock 
When  again  we  before  my  friend's  residence  stopped. 
Then  taVing  my  hands,  both  of  them,  in  his  own, 
f^eft  a  kiss  of  farewell  on  my  lips  and  was  gone. 
t  fancy  his  friends  tired  of  waiting,  ere  he 
The  theatre  reached. 

Well !  the  evening,  to  me. 
Was  pet  feet !     My  love  every  want  satisfies ; 
For  the  void  in  my  heart  sweet  content  he  supplies, 
Until  it  overflows  with  a  love  so  entire, 
So  sacred,  and  pure,  passion  can  but  expire, 
So  sweet  I  ignore  all  the  pain  gone  before. 
While  I  drank  in  the  joy  which  his  presence  affords, 
What  wonder  I  should  for  a  moment  forget 
That  I  "  stolen  waters  "  was  quaffing  !     And  yet, 
Is  a  love  pure  as  mine  such  a  deep,  deadly  sin, 
And  a  crime  each  impassioned  expression  ?     There's  been 
Very  much  to  regret,  and  repent  of — lose  sight 
Of  the  wrong,  or  excuse  it,  I  do  not — it  might, 
However,  be  worse  /  and  to  One,  who,  if  just, 
Is  loving  and  pitiful  also,  I'll  trust 
The  sin  and  its  punishment,  knowing  that  He 
Looks  alone  on  the  heart,  each  temptation  can  see, 
Whether  conquered  or  yie  ded  to.     Once  having  worn 
Our  humanity,  been  by  fierce  temptations  torn, 
He  knows  how  to  succor,  to  pity,  forgive ; 
To  His  love  and  compassion  the  issue  I  leave. 

This  morning  was  fair,  so  of  course  went  up  town 
To  church,  as  I  promised.     Was  early,  and  found 
He  had  not  yet  arrived  ;  but  the  sexton  gave  mes, 
As  requested,  a  seat  near  the  choir;  and  when  he 
11* 


250  STOLEN   WATERS. 

Soon  ufter  came  in,  bis  ffcce  plainly  betrayed 

His  pleasure  at  seeing  me.     He  sang  to-day, 

Divinely,  as  ever !   his  :ued  in  truth 

Tbo  impn  to  suit, 

And  lost  none  of  i-  1  beauty,  when  in 

The  elaborate  "  Tc  Drum"  heard.     J  had  been 

So  proud  of  him,  had  we  but  met  ere  it  came 

To  bo  sir.  1  love  me — had  I  borne  his  name. 

When  service  was  over,  I  had  not  L.">ne  far 

Ere  ho  joined  me.     Together  wo  waited  for  cars. 

He  said  UK;  last  Sabbath  "  My  I.ady  "  was  down, 

But  t  -.as  too  late  to  come,  when  she  found 

*ign 

Th'-n;  was  in  his  failing  tu  t(  11  her  in  limn  (?). 

J  uiiiht, 

as  quite 
When 

oine,  h"  missed  then, 
•in',  a  valuable  diamond 
II 

Thin  :  ••  we  stood  a  long  time 

Con\'  :    failed  to  lind 

I'-wed  a  lanteni  nearby — 

.   uhcn  hi 
.     Indeed!    lie,  I  think, 

One 

For  I  have 

U.y  love,  um.  .,  away, 

Feeling  mire  of  bin  truth  m  :,.     All  day 


WATERS.  251 


I  Lave  thought  of  a  poein,  expressing  indeed 

With  perfectness  my  feelings  to  him.     Thus  ii  reads: 

"  Wliat  are  my  tlioughts  of  thee  ? 
Ah,  most  serene  and  calm  !     Amid  the  din, 
The  stir,  and  tumult  of  the  busy  crowd, 
Like  birds  from  far,  they  softly  flutter  in, 
And  breathe  to  me  thy  name,  but  not  aloud. 
I  hear  some  voice  with  music  like  thy  tone, 
And  start  to  know  that  I  am  not  alone  — 
I  look  amid  them  all,  if  I  may  trace 
Thy  glance,  thy  smile,  thy  form's  familiar  grace—  • 
And  by  the  sudden  flutter  of  my  heart, 
I  know,  my  love,  we  are  not  fir  apart. 

"  What  are  my  thoughts  of  thee  ? 
All  pure  and  fair,  yet  passionately  sweet. 
Moonlight  and  starlight  whisper  still  of  thee. 
I  breathe  thy  name,  and  o'er  and  o'er  repeat 
The  words  thou  said'st  beneath  the  whispering  tree. 
Again  'neath  Winter's  moonlight  skies  we  stand, 
I  feel  in  mine  the  pressure  of  thy  hand  — 
And  wordy  that  touched  my  soul  with  sudden  thrill 
Are  murmured  o'er  by  lingering  memories  still. 
And  though  our  paths  must  part,  'tis  sweet  to  know 
Blest  thoughts  of  thee  are  mine  where'er  I  go  — 
tweeter  to  know  that  with  110  vain  regret, 
We  shall  recall  the  hour  when  first  we  met." 

It  does  seem  so  strange  that  we,  after  three  yean 
Of  inisundenjtandings,  heart-burnings,  and  tears, 
Should  stand  on  the  footing  we  now  'do  ;  ani  that 
Our  long  correspondence,  whic'i  has  been  in  feet 


252  STOLEN  WATERS. 

Irregular,  sparring,  unpleasant — at  length, 
All  jarrings  at  end — we,  by  mutual  consent, 
With  mutual  pleasure,  propose  to  renew, 
On  a  basis  of  confidence,  knowledge,  and  trua 

vt  and  affection,  that  neither  could  know 
At  its  fatal  beginning,  just  three  years  ago. 
I  have  much  injustice  done  him  in  the  past, 
But  I'm  glad  I  can  truthfully  say,  that  at  hist 
My  confidence  in  him  is  perfect,  entire  ! 

I  find,  looking  back  for  a  year,  I  aspired 
Ere  to-night  to  be  able  the  end  to  write  here 
Of  this  unhappy  love.     But  this  record,  I  fear, 
Looks  not  much  like  an  overcome  passion. 

We  leave 
On  the  night  train  for  Boston,  on  next  Wednesday 

>  to  my  homo  I  once  more  bid  adieu, 
To  my  <1  1  also,  my  Journal,  to  you. 


March  1 

\v. 

Once  more  I'm  ii-.  I'.i  U'>w  happy  /  a*. 

r  a  long,  :  .  I  can 

i  my  <>u  ;  .  oin, 

My  oJ  re  to  res>. 

With  my  Journal  ;  once-moi  i'^igos  to  trace 

The  sweet  words  "  at  hour  .  "     There  indeed  in  n*. 


WATERS.  253 


So  dear  to  my  heart  !     I  from  Boston 
About  two  A.M.  yesterday. 

Well!  my  life, 

Since  1  left  home  last  fall,  has  as  usual  not  been 
tJneventful  ;  but  on  the  contrary,  within 
A  few  months  a  great  deal  has  been  crowded.     Bn*  il 
Is  so  far  in  the  past,  I  have  now,  I  admit, 
No  time,  nor,  in  fact,  inclination  to  write 
It  in  detail,  and  merely  will  give  here  to-night 
A  summary  brief  of  a  part. 

When  I  had 

Been  in  B.  a  few  days  only,  I  was  attacked 
With  severe  fever  symptoms,  so  suddenly  that 
'Twas  with  great  difficulty  that  they  were  controlled^ 
And  for  a  few  days  was  quite  ill.     On  the  whole, 
It  was  almost  a  wonder  that  I  had  escaped 
A  long  run  of  fever. 

I  wrote  the  same  day 

I  arrived,  to  my  friend  ;  disappointed  was  I, 
And  greatly,  that  to  it  I  had  no  reply. 
I  waited  some  two  weeks,  and  then  wrote  again. 
Still  no  answer  !     A  letter  to  Annie  I  then 
Dispatched,  and  enclosed  one  to  him,  the  desire 
Expressing  that  she'd  take  it  in  and  inquire 
For  him  —  thus  the  state  of  his  health  ascertain, 
And  at  once  let  me  know  the  result.     This  was  vain 
(I  had  written  to  Aer^two  or  three  times  before), 
For  from  neither  a  word  I  received.     And  once 
I  was  in  despair  !  and  I  cannot  express 
How  unhappy  it  made  me  ;  and  yet,  none  the  leaa 
Did  I  trust  him,  nor  lose  for  one  moment  in  him 
My  confidence  ;  and  I  felt  sure  he'd  not  boea 


254  STOLEN  WATERS.  m 

In  fault  in  the  matter.     When  I  could  repress 

No  longer  the  grief  which  I  can  but  confess 

Each  day  but  became  more  unbearable  still, 

The  suspense  and  anxiety  no  force  of  will 

Could  suppress,  which  was  killing  me — Fannie  would  say 

"  Why  was  I  so  sad,  why  not  try  to  be  gay  ? 

She  was  sure  I  had  nothing  to  trouble  me  1  "     She 

Would  thought  differently  had  she  changed  places  with  m* 

Were  her  husband  away  from  her,  ill,  perhaps  blind, 

Or  sleeping  in  Death's  icy  clasp — and  a  line 

Or  a  word  of,  or  from  him  she  could  not  receive, 

•  •uld  w.-i-p,  and  imagine  she'd  reason  to  grieve. 
I  say  this  dolilnirately.     I  believe 

no  less  dear  to  mo  th:iu  her  husband  to  her. 
I  was  just  as  assured  he  was  ill,  as  if  word 
To  that  effect  I  had  received. 

An  event 

Of  some  moment,  six  weeks  or  so  after  I  went 
T<>  Boston,  occurred,  which  I'll  briefly  state  here: 
When  just  fmi.ihfd  shopping,  one  day,  sharp  and  clear 
A  fire  alarm  struck  from  the  "  Old  South"  church  bell, 
And  wji-s  cch.i.-.l  al  a  city,  as  well. 

W  inoni'-iits  l;ir.  r  the  engines  rushed  past, 
A  mud  crowd  in  tln-ir  w.ik.-.     Tin-y  were  all  gone  at  last, 
And  crossing  '  ilk,  I  signalled  a  car, 

Then  b  :t  to  mr.-t  it.     Not  far 

Had  I  gone,  ere  I  heard  shouts  of  "  hast*  I "  and  was  caught 
Dragged  on  to  th<-  ].!•-.  f.>nn,  ami  thrust  quick  aa  thought 
In  the  car,  whore  a  man  on  tin-  left  in  his  arms 
ClaHjxxl  me  close — then  a  crash,  a  few  screams  of  alarm, 
Or  of  pain,  and  I,  trembling  wid  white,  but  unharmed, 


STOLEN  WATERS.  255 

Was  released,  and  sat  down.     And  then,  for  the  first  time, 

I  knew  what  the  danger  had  been,  ar.  1  divined 

What  a  hairbreadth  escape  I  had  suffered.     It  ueems 

That  an  engine,  in  all  its  mad  fuiy — unseen 

And  unheard  of  by  me — was  directly  lehind 

The  car,  which,  obeying  the  signal  of  mine, 

By  stopping  provoked  the  collision,  which  then 

Could  not  be  avoided.     They  told  me  that  when 

They  saw  me  approaching  they  thought  I  could  not 

Escape  certain  death.     I,  unconscious  of  what 

Was  menacing  me,  must  assuredly  met 

The  fate  which  then  threatened — I  shudder  e'en  yet, 

When  I  think  of  it — had  it  not  been  for  the  kind 

And  prompt  action  of  those  on  the  car  at  the  time, 

And  the  interposition  direct  of  Divine 

Omnipotent  love  and  protection.     It  seemed 

A  miracle,  almost,  that  saved  me.     I  deemed 

It  indeed  nothing  less.     The  pole  of  the  engine 

Was  half-way  through  the  car,  and  the  door  was  cmshr/d  /E| 

The  window-pane  shattered,  and  weak  women  screamed, 

And  attempted  to  faint,  and  the  crimson  blood  streamed 

From  both  cheek  and  hand  of  one  man  near  the  dcor; 

Another  one  had  his  coat  torn  ;  several  more 

Were  injured  in  person  or  dress — yet  was  ./, 

More  exposed  than  all  others,  by  danger  passed  by, 

And  I  stood  there  uuharmed  and  untouched.     Not  a  wori 

Did  I  speak,  but  to  answer,  when  if  I  was  hurt 

They  kindly  inquired.     I  almost  held  my  breath 

At  the  Power  which  saved  me  from  violent  death. 

And  I  thought  that  I  never  would  murmur  again 

At  whatever  might  come;  or  despair,  feeling  then 


256  -OLEy  WATERS. 


That  there  must  be  something  in  store  for  me  yet-, 
Or  I  would  not  been  spared  ;  and,  resolving  to  fret 
No  more  at  Fate's  ;  ,  wait  for  the  end 

With  patience,  with  trust,  and  with  hope. 

To  my 

My  dearest,  I  wrote  UK-  last  day  of  the  year, 
With  hopes  that  would  bring  mo  some  tidings.     A  mere 
Note  only,  I  sent,  scar.  .  yet  I  knew 

'Twos  enough  (<•  assure  him  (hat  I  was  "still  true," 
And  that  if  he  was  well  he\l  let  me  know  the  same. 
In  <1  bo  my  joy,  a  reply  to  this  came. 

It  was  brief,  but  he  stated   he'd  written  mo  throe 

of  course,  but  was  better. 

note  I  was  not  to  ron-ider 

.  and  had  n<>  time  to  write; 
1  -w  days,  then  I  illicit 
from  hii:i  again.      15ut  although 

writing,  also, 
One  01  :ie  other  line 

ni  him,  in  all  tin;  long  time 
I  was  absent.     And  tl.  •,  again 

i^ain.  1  h--;.nl  ii..ihi'i^  fnmi  lier.      This,  too,  when 

A  Hair  I  v  ;ig  each  week, 

And  •  to  speak 

t  not  one  was  lost, 
'<  hard  tli»  ••  I  wanted  the  moat 
aies  to  miscarry. 

There  WM 

In  Maiden  a  f  .  .  in-law's, 

Whose  acquaintance  I  made  while  in  B.     There  wag  not, 
All  during  my  stay,  a  week  passed  by,  but  what 


STOLEN  WATERS.  251 

He  was  there,  and  quite  often  more  frequently  still. 

I  liked  Lim  very  much,  and  had  reason  to  feel 

The  attachment  was  mutual.     Indeed,  we  at  ot.ce 

Became  very  good  friends ;  and  the  long,  weary  month* 

Of  my  absence  from  home  his  society  could 

But  render  more  pleasant,  indeed,  than  they  would 

Have  otherwise  been.     And  between  us  one  bond 

Of  union  there  was,  he  knew  naught  of.     I  found 

That  he'd  "  loved  and  lost ; "  and  though  he  little  thougV. 

That  I  was  aware  of  the  fact,  I  could  not 

Avoid  feeling  for  him  *  from  the  depths  of  my  heart. 

He,  knowing  the  day  that  I  meant  to  depart, 

Met  me  at  the  depot,  and  bade  me  farewell 

With  regret  that  was  evident.     I  cannot  tell 

When  again  we  shall  meet — probably  not  for  long — 

But  with  pleasure  I  ever  shall  look  back  upon 

Our  pleasant  acquaintance. 

We'd  been  a  short  time 

In  B.  when  my  sister's  health  slowly  declined, 
And  soon  after  the  birth  of  the  "  Happy  New  Year," 
She  seemed  slipping  from  earth,  while  with  anguish  and 

tears, 

We  knew  we  could  ne'er  stay  the  fluttering  soul, 
Felt  her  feet  would  be  soon  threading  streets  of  pure  gold, 
Her  weary  head  pillowed  on  Jesus'  time  breast, 
And  her  impatient  spirit  forever  at  rest. 
My  mother  and  father  were  summoned  in  haste, 
And  came  on,  expecting  to  see  the  dear  face 
Frozen,  white,  by  the  kiss  of  the  conqueror,  Death ; 
And  indeed,  we  could  fancy  his  icy  cold  breath 
Had  fanned  her  pale  cheek,  so  near  his  portals  grim 
Did  her  faltering  foot  then  approach.     I  had  been 


258  STOLEN  WATERS. 

Last  to  i  :;d  I  night  and  day  passed 

By  her  side,  'till  upon  the  fair  brow  gathered  fast 

pulse  flickered  and  failed, 
soft  loving  eye  beeaim)  dim,  'neath  the  nails 
The  purplo  bin  iy  hope  was  gone; 

I'll  a;,  a  silent,  and  long, 

.rll,  thin1.  '.  er  again, 

'Till  ti  Hut  when 

r  slunk  from  our  door, 

And  fair  1  1  hearts  onco  mom 

"\Vhatatryii._-  '<>  \isall!     Mud. -pair 

Was  her  husband      her  ehihi  all  care 

Devolved  upon  i\>.<  .  ioul>lcd,  indeed! 

Truly  i  to  us  as  we  need, 

Or  I  could  not  cndim-d  what   1  did  in  those  days. 

up  (he  l..\ed  (me,   I  pn.mi.M'd  to  stay 
As  long  as  tln-y  n-vd.  d  n.y  presence  ;  although 
which  it  ;  :d(ino  knows  I 

it  to  be 
,ld  see, 
•  iold  me  ih.it  1  was  indeed 

leet 

f.ust  slipj  :  1  «    l.rink,  why  iin] 

[  was  to  leave    I  ,  as  well, 

reason  v  lifi-  weeks  before, 

s  of  yore, 

Was  again  in  •  :  had  one 

i  h'-r  health  hud  become 
i  resume 

Of  her  fa;  aaimxl,  and  then  HOOD 

Turctni  uiy  joyful  steps  homeward. 


STOLEN  WATERS.  2£9 

Awaiting  me  there, 

[  found  a  nice  letter  from  Colonel  Allair. 
Have  to-day  been  in  town,  and  of  course  called  to  try 
And  some  tidings  obtain  of  my  love.     Just  as  I 
Had  expected,  I  found  he  was  ill.     'Twas  about 
Three  weeks,  they  informed  me,  since  he  had  been  out; 
Was  no  better  when  last  they  had  heard — yesterday. 
Though  this -knowledge  made  me  very  sad,  I  must  say 
Even  that  was  much  better  than  longer  suspense. 
Of  late  my  anxiety's  been  most  intense. 
I  knew  not,  of  course,  but  in  all  this  long  time, 
Death  had  entered  his  door.     Eelieved  was  I  to  find 
My  dear  one  was  living,  though  'prisoned  within 
A  silent  and  darkened  apartment.     For  him 
It  is  very  hard  thus  afflicted  to  be — 
Hard  for  him — for  all  his — doubly  painful  for  me, 
Who  must  constant  suspense  and  uncertainty  feel, 
And  cannot  be  near  him  to  nurse,  soothe,  or  heal. 


April  Uth,  1867. 

THURSDAY. 

1  had  been  home  from  Boston  not  more  than  a  week 
When  somewhat  surprised  was  I  at  the  receipt 
Of  another  nice  letter  frr on  Colonel  Allair 
Although  none  was  due  me  ;  and,  wondering  where 
I  could  be  all  that  time  that  from  me  he'd  net  heard. 
He  was  anxious  extremely,  he  said,  for  some  word, 
And  feared  thereM  befallen  mo  some  accident 
Qr\  my  way  home  from  B.     Not  in  any  event 


260  STOLEN  WATERS. 

Expressing  one  doubt  of  myself.     My  dear  boy ! 
His  letter  was  most  kind,  and  gave  mo  much  joy. 
A  short  time  after  my  return,  Annie  one  day 
Camo  over  to  see  me,  and  sjiid,  by  the  way, 
That  while  I  was  absent  she  wrote  me  three  times, 
not  once  did  I  hear.     'Tis  indeed  to  my  mind 
Very  incomprehensible. 

/fair  sad  I  was 

.All  day  Sabbath  1  yet  from  no  particular  cause, 
Or  rather  no  new  cause ;  old  griefs,  and  the  old 
And  yet  ever  now  wounds  !     Not  alone  the  untold 
Despair  of  my  wasted,  unwise,  hopeless  love, 
But  my  long-broken  vov  «-r  above, 

Lost  hope,  and  lost  hap]'-       .      /  < .  a't  convey 
To  these  pages,  how  heavy  niy  heart  was  all  day. 
But  .  and  I  will  not  a; tempt  its  recall — 

A  passing  cloud  i.  r  small, 

Dark  and  heavy  with  raindrops ;  but  only  such  as 
Have  over  my  life-hky  but  too  often  passed, 
And  more  and  in<  iily  still,  as  the  swift 

Flitting  years  <  i  to-day  the  cloud-drift* 

Have  boeu  K<  k.     All  the  ni^ht  I  had  dreami 

Of  my  friend — dreams  not  ]  With  morning's 

t  weeping  awoke.     I'm  so  anxious  !     It  seems 
AH  though  I  could  not  lure 

use.     No  one  knows,  I  am  sure, 
H-ilf  how  wearying  'tis.     Were  it  but  allowed  me 
To  see  him,  to  soothe  a  few  moments,  'twould  be 
A  bleat  privilege  :  ve  neither  the  rightt 

the  power;   hit  'iis  \.  r\   hard  to  bo  quit* 


STOLEN  WATERS.  261 

Couteni  always.     Oh,  why  do  I  love  him?  And  why 

Can  I  not  give  him  up  ?     When  in  B.,  by  the  by, 

A  friend  casually  said,  "  Two  years  is  a  long  time 

To  be  constant !  "     But  I,  unto  this  love  of  mine, 

So  hopeless,  perhaps  unrequited,  have  been 

Not  two,  but/bwr  years,  nearly,  constant.     And  in 

My  heart,  I  must  own,  that  the  love  is  to-day 

Warmer,  purer,  and  sweeter,  and  in  every  way 

More  deep  and  enduring  than  ever  before. 

There  is  sweet  with  the  pain,  balm  is  oft  sprinkled  o'es 

My  heart's  bitter  anguish.     I  love  him  with  truth, 

And  with  purity.     So  there  is  nothing,  forsooth, 

In  the  love  that  should  shame  me ;  and  only  an  act 

Accomplished  long  years  ere  I  knew  him,  in  fact, 

Almost  in  my  babyhood,  makes  love  like  mine 

A  sin,  and  the  simplest  endearment  a  crime. 

I  did  wrong,  in  the  first  place,  I  do  not  deny  t 

But  most  bitterly  have  I  been  punished,  and  I 

Can  but  feel  that  the  sin  has  been  here  expiated, 

And  by  it  the  hereafter  will  not  be  shaded. 

Over  me  for  a  long  time  the  cloud  has  hung  low ; 

Will  its  sable  edge  never  roll  backward,  and  show 

The  bright  splendor  beneath  ?     Or  are  the  few  sweet 

Brief  moments  of  happiness,  exquisite,  deep, 

That  his  presence  has  always  afforded,  to  be 

The  whole  compensation  intended  for  me, 

For. the  anguish  and  pain  I've  endured,  and  must  yet? 

The  one  brilliant  gem  in  a  setting  of  jet  ? 

The  one  gleam  of  light  in  the  darkness  so  long 

Enshrouding  me  ?     "  Sorrow  and  silence  are  strong, 

A-nd  patient  endurance  is  God-like  1  "  one  writes. 

And  if  that  end's  accomplished,  my  heart  made  God-like, 


262  STOLEN  WATERS. 

If  by  patient  endurance  of  tms  bitter  grief 

I  am  "  purified,  strengthrin  d,  \>  in  brief. 

If  through  that  I  gain  1  i  'd  think  it,  indeed 

Lightly  won,  and  give  \  the  glorious  need, 

A  notice  in  this  evening's  paper  just  caught 

My  eye,  and  which  pro\  .  just  as  I  thought, 

!••(!  to  summon  to-m-.rrow  A.M. 
Certain  lodges  of  masons  to  meet,  and  attend 
The  funeral  rites  of  a  member.      My  heart 
Stood  still  'till  I  ivad  it,  and  found  that  t'ne  hard, 
Cnn'l  dread  at  my  h«-;ii  was  not  realized  ; 

That  <.tht -rs  were  called  to  mourn,  not  me;  and  eye* 
And  heart  tilled  with  gratitude.     My  mourning  coulf 
But  be  secret,  and  kill  me  it  certainly  would, 
•ems  as  if  that  Mow  1  i.  ,1  bear; 

>in  that  bittrr  trial,   I  pray  <!<>d  to  spare. 


May  4*A,  \f- 
BATPnDAY. 

About  two  weeks  ago,  I  despatched  a  brief  note 
To  my  dearest,  and  ;.  \  rote 

:,'li,  write 

i   I  h«prd  that  J  might 

at  onco;  but  a  week  or  more  paused  by  Ix-forr 
I  received  a  r< •;  ;id  ii->t  write  more 

Than  a  half-d.-.--  n  Inn    .       1 1... I  a  few  d.i\s  U->-n  out, 
He  hoped  permanently  ;  but  ho  was  about 


STOLEN  WATERS.  263 

Broken  down.     For  warm  weather  was  praying,  with  trust 
That  his  health  would  recruit.     My  poor  love  1  though  it 

must, 
Without   doubt — summer's   warmth — have   the    longed-fof 

effect, 

And  bring  his  old  buoyancy  back  again,  yet 
I  fear  winter's  cold  will  prostrate  him  again, 
And  undo  all  the  glad  summer's  work,  and  as  then 
Make  him  captive  to  pain.     If  with  him  I  could  be, 
I'd  such  care  of  him  take  !     Why  did  fate  deny  me 
What  would  be  such  a  boon !     Nothing  more  I'd  desire 
Than  to  watch  o'er  him,  nurse  him  in  sickness — aspire 
To  naught  better  than  in  all  his  joy  to  rejoice, 
Support  and  give  comfort  in  sorrow.     A  choice 
It  is  not  mine  to  make.     Were  he  healthy  and  strong 
It  would  not  be  so  hard.     And  if  one  of  these  long 
And  repeated  attacks  should  my  darling  leave  blind ! 
How  could  I  endure  it  ?     I've  known  for  some  time 
That  'twas  possible,  probable  even ;  yet  I 
Am  not,  and  ne'er  shall  be,  prepared  for  it.     Why, 
When  I  think  of  that,  should  I  forever  be  teased 
With  the  memory  of  "  Jane  Eyre  "  and  "  Rochester  "  ?     H« 
Was  blind,  also,  and  she  was  permitted  to  be 
Light  and  eyes  to  him ;  yet,  when  he'd  health  and  strengthi 

then 

Circumstances  and  stern  destiny  parted  them. 
But  my  "  Rochester,"  he,  my  darling,  my  love, 
Does  not  need  me.     Gotl  grant  me  from  Heaven  abote 
Strength  sufficient  the  weight  of  my  sorrow  to  bear  1 
It  grows  very  burdensome ;  and  in  despair 
I  almost  sink  beneath  it.     Will  ever  there  come 
A.  better  time  for  me  ?     The  colonel,  in  one 


264  STOLEN  WATER& 

Of  his  last  loiters,  writes — "  *Tis  indeed  a  long,  long, 

.ry  night,  that  no:  one  promise  gives  of  the  morn,*1 
When  will  dawn  for  me  break  ? 

I  wrote  him  in  reply 
To  his  note,  saying  Saturday  afternoon  I 
Would  be  in.     For  au  answer  I  looked  all  the  week, 
But  'twas  not  'till  t  ived. 

I  went  to  the  door  when  r  railed, 

And  he  passed  me  thre.  'ast  one  of  all 

Was  the  one  lot.  i.     In  (he  folds  of  my  dress 

I  slipped  it,  and  though  I  cot.  -]y  repress 

•  contents  to  read 
Of  the  unopened  lei 

So  near  to  my  1  If  to 

Bead  both  !ier  long  '  hrough-- 

1  and  then 

vour  (lie  i -(.n tents 

rote,  though,  he  would  fat 
At  ti. 

I  at  once  mad-  •,  then  up  town  to  see 

My  frii'M-l  A:  the  time 

•d  to  find 

L.,  us  I   M  i  in  mino 

•  in  if  it  r;ii:ieil,  and  it  did 

Nearly  all  tin-  P.M.;  ki.  ith  would  forbid 

Uf  hia  braving  a  st<  ;ime  not. 

I  sent 

Another,  and  made  an  ;. 
For  yestorday.     And  1  am  al-le  once  more 
To  n'cord  \>\  >a.sant  things,  ami  to  write  as  of  yore, 
Of  realized  an:  ,  mul  !•: . 

Sweet  hopes  all  fulfilled.     A  iiilu  I  shall  writ* 


STOLEN  WA2ER3.  266 

Of  yesterday's  happiness,  there  should  sometimes 

A  word  of  endearment  slip  out,  from  the  mine 

Of  my  love  for  him,  why  should  I  care  ?     Why  repi  WM 

The  impulse  to  utter  the  deep  tenderness 

That  broods  in  my  heart  for  him,  when  I  well  know 

rhat  these  pages  will  be  by  no  eyes  but  my  own 

Seen  ever,  at  least  while  I  live.     And  when  "  life's 

Fitful  fever"  is  o'er,  and  I  "  sleep,"  why  should  I 

Be  concerned  as  to  what  may  be  then  seen  and  thought  ? 

Those  who  would  for  my  weakness  condemn  me,  do  not 

Know  what  they  in  the  like  circumstances  would  do ; 

And  those,  who  in  any  degree  have  been  through 

The  temptations  and  trials  besetting  me  so, 

Will  pity  me,  rather  than  censure  ;  will  know 

How  utterly  wretched  I  often  have  been. 

And  while  to  the  dregs  all  the  bitter  drops  in 

The  full  cup  of  love  I  have  drained,  very  few 

Of  its  sweets  I  have  tasted.     That  life's  to  me,  too, 

But  "  a  harvest  of  barren  regrets,"' and  a  blight 

All  my  sweet  hopes  of  happiness,  fleeting  as  bright. 

My  mother  !     How  she  would  feel  did  she  know  all ! 
She  wonders  why  I  am  so  sad,  and  why  pall 
4.11  my  pleasures  so  soon.     And  she  may  some  time  know 
Nome  time  solve  the  riddle  that  puzzles  her  so. 
}.  would  not  have  her  now,  as  I  know  that  it  would 
Cause  her  much  pain,  and  could  do  no  possible  good. 
t  can't  give  him  up !  want  the  requisite  strength  : 
I  exped  that  I  may  be  obliged  to,  at  length, 
By  t:m  strong  force  of  circumstances ;  and  'till  then 
[  cling  to  him ;  hoping  as  my  love  for  him 
la  involuntary,  uncontrollable,  ia 
18 


266  STOLEN  WATERS. 

All  resjKJcts  pure  and  true,  that  it  may  be  forgiven 
And  not  future  punishn  .      1  have  striven, 

God  knows,  t<  and  think  I  have  had 

••nt  all  <>{'  :!;•.•  time,  iu  the  Rad, 
Bitter  humiliation  :  .'iv.jurnt 

i'-f  \\liich  semis  neVr  to  be  spent 

for  one  who  from  me 
••rnully  sundered. 

I  fi-r.-cd  it  \\-ould  be 

Stornr.  noon 

Was  clou '  1  ;  but  it  soon 

urnl  ;i\vay  Vi-ry  pleasjuit.      At  four 
i   1  then  wvnt  din-ct  to  the  store. 

Was  lay  friend,  .. .-.      ll>>caiup 

At  on  ,'s  i-xchanged, 

vo  an  as.- 

And  h:i  '.-ti'-d  :i\  ,,\        I   ;  I  f,,r  liiia 

nl  been 

_:h  Home 

'  tVom 

06,  and  \  .  too, 

new 
uiaed  to  oome, 

' 

my  hand 
Was  taki-,1.  B  t"  v.    WO     '•     •  :'    '        :in  '      iid.  aiid 

mainol 

There  a  ni'  ,.     Oh!  how  he  had  changed 

Aud 
Ike  ravages  which  two  *  had  traced. 


STOLEN  WATERS.  267 

He  had  grown  an  old  man  since  last  autumn,  and  yet 
To  my  heart  he  is  dearer  tlian  ever. 

He  said 

JIo  wrote  me  thrice  after  the  note  I  received, 
None  of  which  came  to  hand — and  said  last,  he  belie ve>i 
He  sent  me  a  paper.     It  is  strange,  indeed  1 
At  first  we  of  mere  commonplaces  conversed , 
But  after  a  time  we  dropped  into  the  first 
Serious  conversation  that  ever  has  passed 
Between  us.     I  wrote  him,  I  think  in  my  last, 
With  my  whole  force  of  will  I  was  trying  to  gain 
The  courage  to  give  him  up  wholly  ;  obtain 
The  requisite  strength  to  say,  never  again 
I'd  a  meeting  appoint,  no  more  letters  write  him ; 
When  we  met  we  would  talk  of  a  parting ;  and  in 
The  interim  hoped  he  would  think  of  it.     Yet, 
When  first  I  referred  to  it,  laughingly  met 
All  I  said  with  evasion,  and  when  I  reproved, 
Retorted  by  saying,  "  But  you^re  smiling,  too !  " 
But  his  playfulness  he  at  length  dropped,  and  became 
As  serious  as  I  could  desire.     With'  his  cane 
Clasped  in  one  hand,  his  other  one  holding  his  hat, 
Which  he  from  the  table  beside  which  we  sat 
Had  taken  a  moment  before,  and  his  head 
Bent  slightly,  he  listened  to  all  that  I  said, 
Attentively,  gravely,  and  answering,  too, 
As  occasion  demanded. 

I  briefly  reviewed 

Our  long,  desultory  acquaintance,  and  when 
t  spoke  of  the  grief  he  had  caused  me,  he  then 
Asked  what  he  had  done.     I  referred,  in  reply, 
To  his  frequent  neglect  of  my  letters,  his  slight 


268 


STOLEN  WATERS 


Of  luy  wishes,  his  failure  engagements  to  koop, 
And  the  like.     But  }-,<  . 

Of  what  he  1  only  \vh:it  ho  had  not. 

That  he  won  1 .  i  I  !  ought, 

Faronxis  ^ 

t  to  imply  that  he'd  in 

:..ight 
In  fulfilling  them  ;  ami,  that  if  so,  he  was  right, 

nat  he'd  .  ,  do, 

1  rather  hr  r.-iisuivd,  v,  ,,re  was  Qljft, 

Thau  cuiidfnin.-d  fur  a  I  i,:id  <i<>ne. 

AH  I  knew 
'••ss,  too, 
la  a 

I >t  hidden  away, 
'  llil"  'l'n  '  li"  liad  been, 

11  can-d  for  liim, 
him  to  think 

I    shrink 

liim  .so      luit  h-  lifted  his  I,. 
\'o  lest,  err  irnestnese  uud 

•uree  that  was  i f-,  ing  t, , 

be. 

rief 

ly.     AVith  quirk,  eager  act, 

A*k«-d  if  /  uj> 

Very  earneatl  ,i,l  j,ini)  i,,,w,., 

We'd  quarrelloJ  in  our  correspondence,  there  never 


STOLEN  WATER8.  269 

flad  been  in  our  interviews  aught  to  regret ; 
Those  had  been  very  pleasant  in  every  respect. 
With  a  smile  most  expressive,  he  looked  up  at  that, 
And  my  hand — he  had  taken  in  his  'neath  his  hat — 
Warmly  pressed,  but  said  naught.     Of  how  little  to  him, 
And  how  much  to  me  o\ir  acquaintance  had  been 
I  then  spoke.    And  he  answered  in  such  an  odd  way, 
As  if  all  he  wished  to  he  did  not  dare  say, 
Or  his  strong  feelings  made  it  an  effort  to  speak, 
That  to  him  it  had  been  very  pleasant  indeed. 
I  spoke  of  how  humbling  the  very  fact  was, 
Of  my  caring  for  him,  and  the  consequent  loss 
Of  my  own  self-respect.     But  he  "  could  not  see  why," 
He  answered ;  and  I  in  surprise  made  reply, 
"  Well,  first,  you  are  married  !  "     He  raised  his  bowed  head, 
With  a  most  meaning  smile  interrupting  me,  said, 
"  I  know  that,  very  well !  "     I  continued,  that  it 
Was,  of  course,  very  wrong  for  me,  he  must  admit, 
To  care  more  for  him  than  for  others,  who  were 
Mere  passing  acquaintances ;  and,  not  a  word 
To  speak  or  to  write  to  him,  had  I  a  right, 
Except  what  his  wife  with  propriety  might 
Either  hear  or  perceive;  and  he  surely  must  see 
How  deeply  humiliating  it  must  be 
To  one  proud  as  1,  to  l>u  forced  to  coir 
I  had  lavishly  wasted  tin-  deep  tenderness 
Of  the  first,  only  love  of  my  heart  upon  one 
Who  eared  nothing  for  me.       While   I  .->pok-  there  had  coma 
A  slight  flush  to  his  cheek,  though  until  I  had  done 
Never  lifted  hi-  -»'<l 

How  I  /,-/"/"  that.      ''Knew  wha'.  ?"    1  inquired,  and    i 
passed 


270  STOLEN  WATERS. 

A  slight  tinge  of  em  a  is  tone, 

As  he  answered  -bis  h  i  :ig  warmly  my  owa— 

"  I  L»\v  kuow  you  that  /do  not  care  more  for  you 

I  do  for  ;t  i?  "     I  knew 

I'd  no  reason  to  t/tiuk  that  h--  did,  I  rrjilied. 

of  course  he  mi^ht  say  that  he  liked, 
Or  loved  i.  I!   Imt,  ;•  •  mid  do 

.iy  all  hf  i  iffht  to. 

had  1,  1   i  did. 

But  he  said  then-  \v  force  me  to  restrict 

ts  or  my  words.       I'd  a  i  L'ht  to  say  what 
il  that  1  i  I-  was  not 

as;    I'd  :  i.  se,  to  object. 

nth  to  t!  ••  round  him,  nor  veft 

I  >;  i    1    loM-hin,  'hat    liis  lips  failed  to  Hpeak 

I  have  been  very  sweet 


I  told  him,  one  more 
',  before 

Id  thought, 
>\v  wliat 
:;i'',  1  know, 
1  unto 
h«-  might 

. 

•aid  have  felt 
As  an  insult  if  offered  by  any  one  else; 

ild  take  from  anothrr  t  In 

line 

:    touring  me,  then, 
Most  kindly,  then-  n.-vt-r  had  been  a  time  whan 


STOLEN  WATERS.  271 

He  had  felt  for  me  aught  but  the  warmest  esteem 
And  most  thorough  respect. 

He,  my  love,  did  not  dream 

WTiat  relief  and  what  gladness  those  words  would  afford, 
Or  how  much  of  my  lost  self-respect  they  restored. 
In  return  I  said  merely,  I  thought  that  he  knew 
That  I'd  ever  reposed  most  implicit  and  true 
Confidence  in  his  honor.     We  both  had  all  through 
Been  feeling  most  deeply,  and  I  had  been  forced 
To  make  a  slight  pause  more  than  once  in  the  course 
Of  our  conversation,  my  voice  to  control, 
Though  we  spoke  but  in  whispers.     And  I,  on  the  whole, 
His  character  knowing  so  well,  how  extreme 
Is  his  reticence,  prudence,  reserve — and  supreme 
His  command  of  himself,  think  I  ought  not  to  be 
Dissatisfied  with  the  result.     For  that  he 
Would  say  that  he  loved  me,  I  did  not  expect. 
Though  his  manner  has  often  said  so,  in  effect. 

After  sitting  a  short  time  in  silence,  we  rose 
To  leave,  and  together  went  out.     I  proposed 
To  go  from  there  up  town,  with  Annie  to  spend 
The  night ;  so  an  errand  it  was  his  intent 
That  evening  to  do  he  postponed,  that  he  might 
Accompany  me.     Took  a  car,  and  had  quite 
A  nice  chat  on  the  way ;  and  we  left  at  the  street 
Where  he  used  to  reside  ;  though  he  feared  we  should  meet 
Some  one  that  he  know,  and  he  said  there  were  those, 
And  many,  who'd  be  but  too  glad  to  disclose 
To  his  wife  aught  like  that. 

He  had  been  holding  clow 
My  hand,  which  he'd  taken  on  leaving  the  car, 


272  72S. 

But  oetween  the  two  a  iiich  was  not  far, 

He  released  it,  unu  m  about  me, 

Held  mo  thus  while  we  \  nco;  then  be 

Again  drew  my  hand  in  his  arm.     We  turned  down 

The  avoir:    .  1  at  the  Park,  wh<  n-  we  found 

0         !ves  shortly  after,  and  leaned  ^te, 

oposing  we  1  aj>  in  tli ••  fountain.  I  gave 
A  laughing  assent,  saying  we  would  have  thus 
Death  togetlier,  if  life  union  was  denied  us! 

;id  I  thought 'twere  delicious  to  die  then,  if  death 
Would   couie   while   my   mouth   was  yet 'moist   with    hii 

brea' 

Again,  taking  mo  to  my  friend  Annie's  door, 
Kissed,  and  liade  me  farewell,  and  we  parted  once  more. 


".  1.<W,  1867. 

How  one  To-night 

I  have,  OH  in  gi'ii'-nd,  n  mt 

ly  know  ,ean, 


•   .'-liii  Allair 
Uur  i".  1  where 

I,  I  kiiM'.v  ii"t.     'I  f'd, 

In  a  wiirmtli  an.l  aff     ti    :.  betwe<  D  U   ,  we  read 

Or  hear  of  but  seldom.     II  '   •    []   i  \\\<  ,  for  long, 
Hi»  "  dear  tiirter  !  "  an  !  overs  strong 


STOLEN  WATERS.  273 

Expiessions  of  ardent  attachment.     In  truth, 

He  makes  iove  to  me  under  that  guise,  and,  forsooth, 

Does  it  prettily,  too  1     He  tells  me  that  I  am 

His  "  pet  sister,"  his  "  fondest  attachment."     I  can 

Hare  not  an  idea  how  much  benefit 

My  letters  have  been  to  him ;  and  I  permit 

Him  to  say  all  the  sweet  things  he  chooses,  while  he 

Thinks  he  gives  naught  but  friendship,  nor   claims  naort 

from  me. 

And,  indeed,  he  knows  well  that  my  heart  is  another's, 
And  that  I  can  only  "  love  him  as  a  brother." 
Well !  since  I  wrote  last,  I  in  trouble  have  been— 
Quite  innocently  on  my  part,  though — with  him. 
It  again  is  all  settled,  yet  I  hardly  know 
What  to  think  of  him.     We,  for  two  years  past,  or  so, 
Have  written  the  other  a  letter  each  week ; 
Both  written  on  Sabbath,  both  being  received 
About  the  same  hour  Thursday  morn — though  sometimes 
Until  the  late  mail  he  does  not  receive  mine. 
The  week  subsequent  to  my  last  record  here, 
His  letter  came  promptly,  as  usual.     A  dear, 
Charming,  flattering  letter  it  was,  too,  all  through  1 
In  the  course  of  it,  he  was  referring  unto 
The  receipt  of  my  last,  and  as  follows  he  writes: 
"  it  seemed,  as  I  read  it,  as  if  by  your  side, 
In  actual  converse  with  you,  I  then  sat. 
[  was  in  such  a  state  of  communion,  ere  that, 
With  you,  and  your  letter  then  brought  you,  in  fact, 
So  much  nearer  to  me  than  you  have  been  before, 
That,  when  the  spell  vanished,  it  left  me  once  more 
The  same  feeling  of  sad  and  regretful  wnrest 
Which  I  often  havo  known,  and  yet  cannot  expreaii 

13* 


•OLEN   WATERS. 

Or  account  for.     IB  at  it  wa-3  so  pleasant  and  ffrcmd 
To  f  •  really  feel  the  full,  bland, 

influence  of  your  lovely  spirit !  I'm  sure 
That  MV  heart  must  have  held  conversation  with  yours, 
And  t  :L  that  you  were  then  thinking  of  me. 

Cannot  you  recollect  wheiv  you  were  on  that  eve, 
And  what  doing?     Do  try,  dear!  and  in  your  reply 
Fail  not  to  inform  me." 

Then  thanks  sent  for  my 
•limcnt  with  regard  to  the  change  I  had  seen 


in  1                   "flat 
<•  such  ass 

e.     Hehadhojxtl  1                i  -em 

tor  tli                  .  and  lie  was  quite  proud 
iV.ini  in-'.       1  1 
'  dear  lit  ;  ', 

him  to  a-.-.ist  in  attempts 
At  .self  <  ult  nre,"  he  was,  than  to  any  beside. 

sincere,  earne  that  she  might^ 

which  she  that  pail  had  performed 

full,  sweet,  reward. 

.  u  So  do  n  .  little  dear  Miiekru  heart, 

is  a  blanl 

Of  this  letter,  a  ] 
my  dear  friend,  I  r«-ad.     Many  timrM 

ug  desire 

,  whieh  iniieh  she  admired, 
h,  j.retty  way  she  uplii  .-ad^ 

/  you  help  loving  him,  darling,"  she  I 
"  When  he  is  so  hacdsome,  and  loves  you  so,  too  ? 
To  »y  nothing  of  las  charming  letters  to  you  1  ** 


STOLEN   WATERS.  275 

She  thought  then,  and  'till  recently,  we  were  engaged. 
And  believed  naugtit  I  could  to  the  contrary  say. 

I  could  not  at  first  recollect  how  1  passed 
The  evening  to  which  he  referred ;  but  at  last 
It  all  in  an  instant  across  my  mind  flashed. 
Sitting  close  to  my  love,  in  the  L.'s  reading-room, 
tn  such  deep  conversation  it  might  be  presumed 
I'd  no  thought  but  for  him  who  then  sat  beside  me. 
And  I  wished  it  had  been  any  other  time  he 
Had  desired  information  concerning ;  but  knew 
That  part  of  his  letter  I  must  reply  to 
Or  offend  him ;  of  course,  I  could  tell  him,  too,  naught 
But  the  truth,  which  I  did ;  but  yet  writing,  I  thought, 
About  it,  in  such  a  way  he'd  feel,  indeed, 
Rather  flattered  than  otherwise.     Well,  I  received 
His  reply  in  due  time.     'Twas  brief,  cold,  and  he  wrote 
Commonplaces  alone.      And  he  said  at  the  close — 
"  If  this  note,  dear  "  (the  only  place  where  the  first  word 
Of  endearment — of  which  he  is  lavish — occurred), 
'  Proves  uninteresting,  does  not  satisfy, 
You  must  excuse  me,  for  a  good  letter  I 
Could  not  write  you  to-day,  so  unlike  it  I  feel ; 
And  the  reason  I  may,  perhaps,  some  day  reveal. 
Be  a  good  girl,  and  ever  remember  your  friend  !  ' 
I  was  both  perplexed  and  indignant.     The  end 
Was  much  like  the  whole.     I  could  all  overlook 
Except  one  thing! — the  coldness,  constraint  I  could  brook, 
Thinking  he  might  be  troubled,  in  spirits  depressed, 
Were  it  not  for  the  manner  in  which  'twas  addressed — 
"  My  dear  friend  !  "     At  the  head  he  in  general  writes, 
M  My  sweet  sister, "  "  My  dear  little  pet,"  and  the  like. 


276  STOLEN  WATERS. 

AJJ.I  it  but  displeasure  with  me 

.apt  him  to  write  in  that  way  ;  and  could  « 

'aer,  but  what  I  wrote  him 
Of  liow  I  was  <•  a  the  evening 

Of  which  he  inquired  ;  and  1  could  not  see  why 
Tluvt  shuiilil  hud  such  results.     I  regretted  that  1 
Had  v.  .amgh  he,  in  effect 

d  me  to.     And  yet,  what  is  his  right  to  object 

'.  ith  whoever  I  choose? 
be  think  all  companionship  I  must  refuse, 
While  I  hold  correspondence  with  him — a  mere  friend? 

d  find,  in  the 
i  the  more  I  thought  of  it,  the  more 

:  it  o'er, 

he  had  "  found,  with  surprise, 
be  loi-f  in  tlinrjuM*.'" 

are  me  much 

If  /  1.  the  same.     There  was  such 

•  TV  all  t'  i-iMiijh  ; 

_;  thing  it  could  !»•,  1  \vell  know, 
iiiin  to  write  in  that  manner  to  me. 

'  the  next  Sabbath  eve, 

.  John, 

If  I  have  done 

,  tell  me  .ness  what,  and 

take  it  back,  if  1  can. 

iuu4  know 

;  so 

.  and  I'd  cert  linly  no 

D<  Tim  following  week 

Camo  hia  usual  letter — although,  of  course,  he'd 


STOLEN  WATERS.  277 

Not  received  mine  as  yet,  as  four  days  are  required 

For  a  letter  to  go,  and  so  when  we  desire 

To  receive  more  than  one  in  twc  weeks,  it  becomes 

Necessary  for  two  sets  of  letters,  not  one , 

So  this  was  the  answer  to  one  sent  before : — 

It  was  long,  and  as  loving  as  ever,  and  bore 

To  the  other  no  reference  ;  but,  there  was  quite 

An  undertone  through  it  of  sadness,  unlike 

Any  I  have  had  from  him  before.     Did  not  write 

As  early  as  visual,  in  fact,  not  'till  night. 

Then  said — "  But  while  I've,  dear,  been  silent  all  day, 

I  do  not  think  you've  from  my  thoughts  been  away 

For  more  than  five  minutes  at  any  one  time, 

And  not  often  for  such  a  duration.     In  fine, 

In  my  thoughts  you've  a  iixture  become  !  " 

This,  I  deei  ie4 

Was  a  good  deal  to  say !     Many  other  nice  things, 
And  pleasant,  he  said,  that  I  cannot  write  here. 
It  is  too  bad  to  tease  him  so,  he's  such  a  dear, 
Good  boy,  such  a  kind,  such  a  true,  loving  friend ! 
And  to  do  so  I  certainly  did  not  intend. 
The  next  week  brought  an  answer  to  mine,  which 

contained 

Of  the  cause  a  complete  explanation,  the  same 
Which  I  had  surmised.     And  then,  lest  that  should  not 
Restore  him  in  full  to  his  place  in  my  heart, 
Wrote  again  in  a  few  days.     Since  then  it  has  been 
All  right,  and  I  think  no  more  of  it. 

Within 

The  past  month  I  have  thought  with  more  senoiisnem 
Than  I  ever  have  previously  Hone^  I  confess. 


278  STOLEN  WATERS. 

Of  my  lore  giving  up.     And  I  ne'er  realized 
So  fully  before  wh;i  sacrifice 

'Kit  an  effort  'twould  cost.     Opening 
A  l>  -if  his  were  the  first  thing 

I  entered  the  parlors,  wherein 
rhinos  to  remind  me  of  him — 
The  rocker  h>-M  I<>uir4'-d  in,  the  sofa  where  we 
and  albums  which  he 
s  I  came,  opened  my  desk, 
Tlu-rr  W'  in  his  clear  handwriting  addressed, 

tin-in.     Karli  time  I  exclaimed, 
Lder,  "  II          ••     1  !M     And  \vhm  evening  came 

.iv  journal  to  write,  I  disc«-i 
The  li  >em  he  sent  me  ;   I  tm 

vrta  then-  hronght  to  view, 
:'  tin-  ln-ight  hour  whrn  we  two 

h'ut  name  I  found 

i<*e.     Closed  my  book,  and  threw  down — 
ng — my  pen      My  heart  turned  sick  with 

i  can  do  it,  I  cannot  I"  I  said. 
".  was  a  vast  ditlrn-nco  between 

•  iving  on  e'en 

\v.      I  ilisniissi-d  from  my  mind 
All  t  tioc. 

Some  little  time 
i  him  ; 

.\ln-r.'  inotlit-r  then  Hat 

Bbe  9a.l  .t  it  seems  thought  the  morr 

For,  n  few  days  thrroaft«-r,  I  slipped  out  the  door 


STOLEN  WATERS.  279 

And  ran  to  the  box  at  the  corner,  a  note 

To  him  to  deposit.     Mamma  did  no   know 

That  we,  since  we  parted  some  three  years  ago, 

Have  had  any  intercourse.     When  back  I  came, 

She  asked  if  to  him  I  was  writing  again. 

1  could  not  deny  it,  of  course ;  on  the  whole, 

Found  "  open  confession  was  good  for  the  soul." 

I  told  her,  with  tears  which  I  could  not  repress, 

The  whole  bitter  truth  ;  nothing  did  I  suppress, 

And  I'm  so  glad  she  knows  it !     It's  taken,  indeed, 

From  my  mind  a  great  burden.     That  I  had  deceived 

My  dear,  kind,  loving  mother,  has  long  been  to  me 

A  most  bitter  thought.     And  I  knew,  too,  that  she, 

Felt  almost  contempt  for  my  darling ;  but  when 

I  told  her  how  generous,  noble,  he'd  been — 

In  all  this  long  time  how  he  never  had  made 

One  attempt,  e'en,  the  slightest  advantage  to  take 

Of  the  love  he  had  long  known  so  well,  and  how  true 

His  regard  and  esteem  was  for  me,  and  how,  too, 

I  thoroughly  honor  and  trust  him — how  glad 

I  was  I  could  say  it ! — she  told  me  if  that 

Was  the  truth,  he  was  one  in  a  thousand ;  and  said, 

Though  that  I  should  love  him  she  could  but  regret, 

To  our  being  good  friends  she  would  never  object, 

Nor,  indeed,  to  our  seeing  each  other,  so  long 

As  she  now  was  assured  there  was  no  tiling  more  wroLg. 

My  dear  mother !  so  kind  to  her  sad,  wayward  child  1 

God  bless  her !  and  keep  ine  from  turning  her  smile* 

To  tear-drops  of  sorrow !     It  gave  me  such  joy 

She  should  uhange  her  opinion  of  Mm,  my  dear  boj  t 

Such  gladnotss  to  have  her  at  length  learn  to  know 

All  his  true  worth  and  honor. 


880  STOLEN  WATERS. 

A  few  days  ago, 

1  was  in  at  the  store  for  a  short  time,  and  had 
With  him  quite  a  iiieo,  pleasant  little  confab. 
All  the  good  1  illness  List  winter  dispelled 

He'd  regained  ;  an<l  that  day  he  was  looking  so  wt  II, 

1  so  hands.  T  ..,  i  f,.\\  jn  iove  over  again  ! 
II<'  promised  to  write  me  on  FrMay,  and  when 
The  next  morning  passed  by  ringing  to  me 

The  dear  note,  I  was  nnu-h  disappointed  ;  but  he 
Is  as  sorupulo;.  a  promise  to  k> 

As  careful  in  making  one;  so  I  belie\ 
He  had  a  good  reason.     The  note  was  receivnl 
Test*  IVas  a  nice,  pleasa  .  indeed  t 

be  was  sorry  that  I  should  have  been 

:iing  in  h  .11  him; 

But  Friday  h"  could  not  the  time  get  to  Bay 

1  to  me. 

I've  been  fooling,  to-day, 
.sad!     For  "  forbidden  fruit 1  in  vain; 

.••art  aching  with  dull  and  inenralde  ] 
For  the  soft  "  stolen  waters  •  ss  love, 

•  so  passing  sweet — sweet,  abovt 
All  th  ii  of  another's!     Onoe  more 

i  in  my  mind,  as  I  ha\'-  u^ii"  In -fore, 
If  'twere  possi  up, 

hambers  his  dear  presence  shut 
the  •!)•   .'i  prospect  as  usual  1  shrink, 
:u  my  w.-.tlv   h-Mi-f   sfill  p. •!•:-,; 
I  low  i  ,uhl  like,  • 

A  ramble  with  him  in  the  clear,  soft  n. 
Or  a  nice,  cow  leasant  room, 

Open  oaaementa,  our  only  light  that  of  the  moon. 


STOLEN  WATER8.  281 

Others  euch  bliss  enjoy,  why  should  I  be  denied ' 

How  I  envy  her  who  has  an  undoubted  right 

To  his  presence,  his  love,  his  caresses !     And  she 

Does  not  know  her  good  fortune,  does  not,  I  believe, 

Her  happiness  prize  as  she  should.     And  would  I, 

I  wonder,  if  I  could  her  place  occupy  ? 

I  think  so,  yet  "  each  heart  knows  its  own  bitterness," 

And  how  much  there  is  of  "  connubial  bliss  " 

In  that  household,  I've  no  means  of  knowing.     I've  thought 

Sometimes,  he  loves  me  /  but  if  so,  or  if  not, 

I  never  shall  know.     How  unutterably  sweet 

Words  of  love  from  his  dear  lips  would  be — he  who  Et>ea  vi 

So  little.     Yet  I  could  scarce  love  or  respect 

Him  so  much,  were  he  not  always  so  circumspect, 

So  faithful,  so  careful  to  ever  be  true 

To  her  unto  whom  his  allegiance  is  due. 

My  good,  precious  boy  !  lost  forever  to  me, 

Yet  how  dear  to  my  heart  must  my  love  erer  be ! 


July  Uthy  1867. 

SUNDAY. 

Have  been  quite  indisposed  all  the  day,  and  to-night 
Am  so  very  unhappy !  too  much  so  to  write, 
Or  to  do  aught  but  weep ;  for  there's  now  going  on 
In  my  mind,  such  a  conflict  between  right  and  wrong, 
Religion  and  love !     And  oh !  what  can  I  dc  ? 
What  ought  I  to  do!     How  I  wish  that  I  krew 
And  had  courage  to  do  it.     I  feel  there  is  n&  ignt 
I  can  do  in  regard  to  the  former,  withe  at 


282  STOLEN  WATERS. 

I  moke  au  entire  sacrifice  of  the  last. 

:Y.  >m  my  heart  all  the  vast 
h  and  power  of  this  fatal  passion.     How  can 
I  givi-  up  my  darling?     How  part  from  the  man 
Wh<>  to  ine  than  the  whole  world  beside? 

Conltl  the  struggle  I  ever  sustain  ?     Is  there  life, 

mgh  in  my  heart  to  suffice 

To  support  nit-,  my  broken  heart  heal?     God  alone 
Knows  how  bitter  'twould  be.      Could  I  part  from  "n< 

own  " 

Forever?      Tut  f.ir  from  my  sight  everything 

.Id  remind  me  of  him  ? 

ia  to  see  or  to  hear  from  au'ain  ? 

trial  most  fearful !      And  when 
,in  my  lif"  what  a  drear  blank  'twould  leave. 

:.l  not  turn  back,  1  believe; 
required  resolution  will  bo 
Not  obtained  very  soon.      I'll  think  of  it,  and  see. 


./  i:>*A,  1867. 

DAY. 

I  wrote  la»t ; 
tip- 

i        it  will  j>urt 
.  <>f  my  heart, 
,  tome, 

>ok'n  every  leal 
1  writ*  this  with  no  tear  ;  for  my  fountain  of  grief 


STOLEN  WATERS.  283 

Hours  ago  was  exhausted.     The  tear-drops  have  all 
Trickled  down  to  my  heart,  and  lie  there  like  a  pall, 
\.  dead  weight  of  sorrow. 

Last  night  I  spent  hours 

In  weeping,  and  deep,  troubled  thought ;  for  the  aowei 
O/  conscience,  awakened,  would  make  itself  heard, 
And  pierced  my  poor  heart  with  each  soft-spoken  word. 
It  told  me  that  I  had  been  sinful  and  weak ; 
Had  yielded,  where  I  should  resisted.    .Like  Ere, 
I  had  suffered  myself  to  be  tempted,  beguiled 
Into  tasting  of  fruit  that's  forbidden.     And  while 
Unto  the  dominion  of  passion  so  wrong — 
Notwithstanding,  its  purity — I  should  succumb, 
I  never  could  hope  to  regain  what  I  lost 
Years  ago,  grace  and  favor  of  God.     If  I  was 
Not  feeling  to  Him  as  I  ought,  I  at  least 
Could  my  duty  perform,  and  the  whole  issue  leave 
In  His  hands !     And  when  at  the  untold  sacrifice 
My  heart  murmured,  and  in  bitter  agony  cried 
That  its  idol  it  could  not  give  up,  a  reply 
To  my  soul  in  a  small,  stilly  voice  softly  came — 
"  Shall  Jesus  for  you  have  died  wholly  in  vain? 
Think  what  lie  for  you  suffered !  and  can  you  not  do 
This,  even,  for  Him  ?  "     Thus  presented  unto 
My  mind  was  the  subject,  and  neither  could  I 
Of  it  rid  myself,  nor  its  force  could  deny. 
In  a  case  such  as  that,  how  could  I  hesitate  ? 
To  the  tempter  how  list,  when  the  Voice  Divi  *e  spake. 
And  so  "  through  many  pangs  of  heart,  through  many  ttwra/ 
Was  the  firm  resolve  born  that  my  idol  for  years 
Should  be  shattered,  torn  out  of  my  heart,  given  np 
In  a  sacrifice  whole  and  entire,  ever  shut 


284  STOLEN  WATERS. 

From  all  part  in  a  life  he  had  made  bitter-sweet. 
A  resolve  which  i  iiuid  all  the  deep 

Pain  and  anguish,  and  bitter  despair  which  it  caused  - 
Ajad  my  Father  al>ove  knows  alone  \vhat  that  was  I 
80  religion  and  coi.  iriuuijdied  at  length, 

Done  what  coldness,  and  slights,  all  my  will's  force  *n« 

The  conu-iiijit  of  the  world,  or  a  mother's  regret, 
•  he  !"-•<  "f  my  own  si'lf-respect, 

!|>li*hed.     A  blank,  oh,  how  dreary, 

me!     A  life,  oh,  how  weary 
henceforth  b<;  mine!      I  can't  think  of  it  yet, 

f  my  in-t  the  effect,         » 
Or  s  rain 

Bee  or  from  liim  ulu»  has  been 

My  <•:  ing,  for  years. 

(  )li,  i 

'1'ln-n  !  v  on  me, 

<  oil  I  break !     Such  a  pressure  of 
.  I  scarcely  can  breathe. 
<>h  !  ,  relief  I 

agony  was  the  whole  night ! 
y  came  with  the  light. 

t  o  come, 
thoughts  of  on* 
so  dear.     Wh.-n  I  can  but  succumb 

in.' ;   tin-  dumb, 
S|n-eehh-.-  iai  1  must  i  iid.i!-  .       1  cannot 

,'  I  annt, 
Writing  nearly  aa  follow* : 


BTOLBR  WATERS.  285 

"  My  Dearest ! 

"Again, 

And  for  the  last  time,  I  am  writing  to  you, 

To  say,  wholly  and  irrevocably,  too, 

I  at  last  give  you  up  !     Do  not  smile,  as  you  read, 

And  wonder  how  many  days  there  will,  indeed, 

Elapse,  ere  another  from  me  is  received. 

I  am  not  trifling  now,  but  am,  as  you  must  know, 

In  most  mis'rable  earnest.     Nor  do  I  say  so 

In  a  moment  of  pique  at  my  sad,  wasted  love, 

Nor  of  anger  with  you — you  who  always  have  proved 

In  the  end,  ever  noble  and  kind,  ever  true — 

But  after  a  night's  hopeless  pain,  such  as  you 

May,*I  trust,  never  know.     Neither  think,  dear,  tha:  ai  |1 

You  have  done  is  the  cause.     I  am  sure  you  will  net, 

When  I  tell  you  that  never  I  one-half  so  well 

Have  loved  you  as  this  moment,  when  saying  farewell — 

Though  the  sad,  fatal  words  that  shall  part  us,  my  pen 

Now  refuses  almost  to  transcribe.     '  And  what  then  ?  * 

You  will  ask  !    Simply  this :  that  at  length 

My  religion  and  principle's  conquered,  and  naught 

Beside  such  a  great  change  could  ever  have  wrought. 

Between  me  and  my  God  hitherto  you  have  stood, 

Though  to  you  quite  unconsciously.     I  to  Him  could 

Offer  naught  while  I  cherished  a  passion  so  wrong 

As  I  knew  was  my  love,  notwithstanding  its  strong 

And  deep  purity.     Nor  dare  1  hesitate  now, 

Or  longer  ignore  obligations  and  vows 

t  took  on  myself  years  ago.     You  have  been 

The  innocent  cause  of  a  blight  rendering 

All  my  happiness  here,  but  I  can't  permit  you 

To  make  void  all  my  hopes  of  felicity,  too, 


286  STOLEN  WATERS. 

fn  the  blissful  hereafter.     I  know  that  all  this 

Fou  feel  not  yourself;  but  know,  too,  my  love  is 

No  sceptic,  and  in  its  existence  I  trust 

You  believe.     And  some  day,  I  am  sure  that  you  must 

ri«  nee  what  will  unite  us  as  friends 
In  that  land  far  beyond  the  dark  river,  where  ends 
All  sorrow  and  pain,  where  no  partings  are  known, 

'er  airain  'till  we  meet  at  God's  throne 
To  tlii  iiall  this  thing  I  not  do 

/  both  for  me  and  for  you  ? 
Iain  no  enthusiast  ;    1  do  not  f- el 

tilings  as  I  outfit ;  but  when  duty's  revealed 
So  plainly  to  me  I  can  neVr  hesitate. 

d<>,  though  my  heart  it  should  break. 
Do  not  think  1  am  wavering,  cither,  or  that 

1  ehanu'e.      I  do  not  hint,'  by  half. 
U  7ha\elo\.  li  my  whole  heart,  as  your 

Caresses,  and  letters,  anil  words  the  most  puro 
have  given  to  me, 
_tfve  them  up,  and  "  thee," 

.11  know 
t  has  cost  me;  how  fenrful  tho  blow  ; 

i.iys  I  in  fut lire  must  see, 

Wh'-n  tin  f  my  sad  heart  will  be, 

ill  see  never  more,  never  more, 
spates  are  passed, 'till  I.  iso'er!! 

how  vast 
i,  in  recalling  tho  past, 

Hare  clung  to  you  nearly  four  y««rs  now  gun*  by, 
Notwithstanding  the  buiuiliuti<in  and  pain 


STOLEN  WATERS.  287 

Which  was  caused  by  affection  so  hopeless  and  rain. 

But  you  never  will  ^alize  all  the  extent 

Of  the  anguish  with  which  this  decision  is  sent. 

Consider !  You'd  never  give  me  up,  I  knew  ; 

Ne^er  say,  '  I  shall  write  no  more  letters  to  yo  i, 

Another  appointment  I  never  will  keep !  ' 

Knew,  if  it  was  done,  my  hand  must  do  the.  deed. 

Indignation  or  anger  I'd  not,  to  assist, 

Or  urge  'gainst  a  heart,  every  fibre  of  which 

Pleads  so  strongly  for  you.     And  I  knew  I  could  see 

Or  hear  from  you  often,  and  that  you  would  be 

Ever  noble  and  true.     Think  of  this — how  replete 

With  pleasure,  how  deeply,  bewild'ringly  sweet 

Has  our  intercourse  been,  and  you  can  but  perceive 

That  'tis  after  no  slight  struggle  I  these  words  write 

It  is  fearfully  hard  !  but  yet  rendered  more  light 

From  the  fact  that  I  suffer  alone ;  that  you  will 

Not  the  cruel  stroke  feel  as  I  must  do.     And  still, 

I  think  you  my  decision  perhaps  may  regret. 

Tliat  'twill  cause  you  a  few  bitter  pangs  to  reflect 

That  the  fond  little  friend,  true  to  you,  at  such  cost, 

And  for  such  a  long  time,  you  forever  have  lost. 

But  you'll  know  that  she'll  never  forget  you — your  name 

Will  e'er  thrill  her  heart  with  a  touch  of  the  same 

Old,  beautiful  music — that  she'll  never  love 

Another,  as  she  has  loved  you — far  above 

And  beyond  all  the  world  you  must  stand  in  her  heart. 

Though  she  writes,  with  her  own  hand,  the  words,  'we 

part!' 

And  that  you'll  forget  her,  she  has  never  a  fear 
V  ou'll  think  of  her  on  the  last  day  of  the  year, 


288  OLEN  WATERS. 

On  the  chul  <  .     Think  of  one,  now  acd  then 

',  if  not  nd,  when 

;  yi Hi,  because 
;  t.     And  if  I've  over  lost, 
In  any  <i  iiich,  indeed, 

I've  n.i  n  ..  OH  to  think,  and  which  you  a  few  weeks 
issuivd  me  hail  not  IHHMI  the  case — 
And  1  in  this  place 
inks  for  your  kindness  so  true, 
'•rosity,  too ; 
.  comj)lete  self-control, 
^  lu  (o  look  back  on  the  whole, 

•  think,  ii  may  have  done  wrong, 

iminal.      Thitnks  to  your  strong, 

M  and  kiud, 
goodness  to  me ;  and  God  bless  you  ! 

«  In  tin* 
rowel  1  is 

Mother  will  not  objf» 
.ows  all,  and  feds  for  you  th<;  KJUIW  true  respect 

And  while  far  apart 
:•  ly  lead,  the  O]  of  mv  heart 

;dl  th<!  world  o*er, 
'>ne  preserve  ev<  n 
nt*  a  beautiful  morn— 
ceeda  to  death's  darkness  et'  lawn. 

•  ".11 !      i  ,.  i  C!in  speak 

your  li)>s  on  my  cheek*. 

And  your  tme  heart  responding  to  mine  at  each  beat — 
tin 

"  All  your  own, 

"  Bitter  8ir«et* 


STOLEN  WATERS.  289 

A  few  days,  and  it  all  will  be  over !    The  dream 

So  sweet  will  have  ended.     My  darling  will  seem 

To  drop  out  of  my  life  as  if  dead — dead  to  me 

Forever  and  ever,  until  we  shall  meet 

Where  all  are  united  eternally,  where 
\  There  can  be  no  partings,  no  marriage,  and  there 
I    I,  too,  shall  be  his,  and  he  all  mine,  at  last ! 

The  feverish  dream 's  with  the  vanishing  past ; 

I  to  calmness  must  now  school  my  heart,  so  bereft, 

And  in  silence  endure  all  the  pain  that  is  left. 


July  30^,  1807. 

TUESDAY. 

Two  weeks  have  elapsed  since  my  farewell  I  sent 
To  my  love  ;  yet  I  have  not,  until  this  P.M., 
Either  heard  from  or  seen  him.     I  did  not  know  how 
To  account  for  it.     Feeling  I  could  not  allow 
Him  to  slip  from  my  life  without  even  one  more 
Interview  with  my  dear  one,  although,  as  of  yore, 
Pride  rebelled,  I  resolved  I  would  call  at  the  store, 
The  cause  of  this  long,  cruel  silence  to  find. 
Felt  I'd  crushed  down  my  pride  before  too  many  times 
To  yield  to  it  now,  and  one  more  sacrifice 
Could  matter  but  little — let  that  thought  suffice — 
And  went  in  to-day.     He  did  seem  very  ^lad 
To  see  me,  and  I  could  but  think  that  I  had 
Never  seen  him  so  handsome  as  he  looked  to-day. 
Just  my  beau  ideal  in  every  way  I 
13 


290  STOLEN  WATERS. 

In  looks,  dress,  appearance,  a  gent  Ionian  true, 
My  precious,  lost  darling !     How  plain  to  my  vie* 
Comes  this  moment  his  imago  before  me,  as  he 
A  ppearecl  when  to-day  he  stood  talking  to  me. 
Leaning  carelessly  over  tin-  counter,  thereon 
Carving  ti '  -«  in  various  forms, 

And  list'ninir  attentively,  smiling  or  grave, 
To  all  that  I  said,  glancing  up  as  he  gave 

pinion  on  matters  of  which  we  conversed, 
Or  his  answers  to  me.     Splendid,  always!  my  first, 
()nl\  my  part  I  both  watched  and  market 

•n  ;   anew  on  my  1; 
feature,  in  deep,  ineil'aeeaMe  lines. 

•nee  I  referred  to  the  letter  of  mine, 
1  his  failu  to  send.       He  replied, 

'houiiht  none  was  required, 
•  •Me,!  th:.  it,  and  lie  thought 

>uld,  hut  had  not 
"pp-irlnnily.      /said  one  thing 
uld  not  be  gladder  to  bring 

1  it  was  o*er, 

.ined  t<>  me  i|iiiekly,  with  more 
MOD  there  !>•  | 

/  f  11 ! 

•  ...it  moment   I  felt 

ild  give 

The  t  rid. 

I  told  him  .,vted  that  ho 

Woull  care  very  much,  hut  I  thought  tl*t  for  tae 


STOLEN   WATERS.  291 

% 

And  my  feelings  he'd  have  some  regard.     "With  a  *t.  nch 

Of  bitterness  answered  he,  "  I  cared  so  much, 

Had  so  much  regard,  I  decided  to  go 

Out  to  see  you,  but  absent  have  been,  and  had  no 

Opportunity  yet,  as  before  I  have  said." 

i  told  him  I  knew  not  but  that  he  was  vexed 

At  what  I  had  written  of  mother,  as  when 

She  first  knew  about  it  he  felt  so.     But  then 

It  was  different,  he  said,  and  he  rather  was  glad 

Than  otherwise,  now,  that  she  knew  it,  and  had 

No  hesitancy  about  coming  out.     Thought 

He  would  quite  like  to  see  her — would  rather  thai,  noi, 

He  said  that  if  possible  he'd  come  this  week. 

In  the  first  of  my  record  this  evening,  I  speak 
Of  my  pride  sacrificing  by  having  gone  in 
To  ascertain  why  I-  had  not  heard  from  him. 
And  I  wish  to  say,  now,  that  not  one  moment  I 
Have  regretted  it.     Neither  have  I,  by  the  by, 
Any  similar  sacrifice.     I  never  let 
My  love  conquer  pride,  with  an  after  regret. 
And  he  never  seemed  to  think  'twas  any  cause 
Of  triumph  to  him,  or  involved  any  loss 
Of  my  dignity  or  self-respect.     When  I've  felt 
Mortified  at  my  own  want  of  firmness,  myself 
And  weakness  in  pel  ding  so  much  to  my  strong, 
Overpowering  love  for  him,  potent  so  long, 
Never  word,  look,  or  act  of  IUB  added  unto 
My  humiliation,  or  showed  that  he  knew 
Or  had  e'er  thought  of  it.     And  how  late  I  have  learned 
To  prize  all  his  goodness  to  me — to  discern 
Ilis  grand  generosity,  charity,  truth. 


292  STOLEN   WATEB& 

Onlj  after  a  four  years*  acquaintance,  fora  x>tb, 

Ami  when  I  am  losing  him,  too.     But  I  am 

So  thankful  that  I  have  known  him  'till  I  cau 

Bo  assured  that  1  have;  not  unworthily  love ). 

But  one  who  on  every  occasion  has  proved 

How  superior  he  to  myself  is,  as  well 

As  the  most  of  his  8'  c      !!••':•;  so  good!   I'ID 

.More  ;i!id  more  to  esteem  him  each  time  that  wo  mrtt 

And  I  left  him  to-day,  loving  him  with  more  (?e«5p 

And  perfect  a  love  than  I  ever  have  done, 

Were  tli  I  must  give  up  the  ope 

Wh  r  to  me!     And  I  thought  this  P.M., 

::iy  return  home, 'twas  indeed  hard,  that,  wLr« 
A  In  i'-f  inter\  i«  \v  with  my  love  gave  to  me 
Such  pure  and  entire  happiness,  I  must  be 

vedofth  .  that  I  from  my  heart 

hid  his  d.'ar  ima^e  tor--\«-r  d«-part, 
!'-arn  to  be  reconciled  to  the  sad  thought 
That   I  ••  him  ajjain.      Oh!   how  fraaght 

<  >f  that  when  I  thii.k, 
"  All  my     'Mi-,himi  grows  suddenly  dark,"  and  I  shrink 

have  to  ! 
And  my  calmness  is  Imt  the  falsehood  of  despair. 


0//i,  f867. 


TUESDAY. 


With  a  heart  almost  Kruken  hencath  ita  dread  lo«d 
Of  grief  and  bcn»vcmont,  with  eyes  oversowed 


STOLEN  WATERS.  203 

<Vith  hot  tears,  trembling  hand,  and  a  faltering  pen, 

In.  this  book,  \vhich  has  been  for  so  long  my  dear  frifiDtl, 

Oomparion,  and  confidante,  come  I  to  make 

My  last  record.     For  I  can  but  feel  that  this  day 

should  close  the  account  of  the  baneful,  and  yet 

Most  beautiful  past,  all  its  love  and  regret, 

All  its  sweetness  and  pain,  all  its  sorrow  and  trust ; 

And  that  when  I  shall  open  another,  it  must 

On  its  pages  no  traces  contain  of  the  sad, 

Troubled  waters  that  these  have  long  flooded. 

I  had 

No  visit  last  week  from  my  love,  but  received 
On  Saturday  morning  a  note,  saying  he 
Had  thought  Le  should  see  me  ere  that,  but  was  quite 
Unwell,  and  unless  he  should  get  out  that  night 
Would  be  forced  to  defer  it  'till  Tuesday — to-day. 
I  expected  him  this  afternoon,  and  must  say 
1  was  much  disappointed  when  failing  to  come. 
But  I  had,  just  at  night,  such  a  headache  come  on, 
I  half  wished  that  he  still  might  defer  it,  although 
'Twas  with  heart-throbs  of  pleasure  I  saw  him  approach, 
And  with  warm,  happy  welcome  met  him  at  the  d:>or. 

What  an  evening  we  spent !     All  the  sweet  shad*  wed  o  « 
By  the  pain  of  the  parting  that  yet  was  in  store. 
Sitting  close  on  the  sofa,  my  hand  in  his  clasp, 
Conversing  of  future,  and  present,  and  past, 
Living  ages  of  happiness  in  the  few  brief, 
Fleeting  moments  of  this  all  too-swift-passing  eve  ; 
And  yet,  with  a  thread  of  despair  through  tho  whole 
Realizing  with  pain  which  wo  could  not  control 
Fhat  this  was  the  last !     Oh  !  but  it  teas,  indeed, 


294:  STCLKX    WATERS. 

To  UH  raeii,  in  one  moment,  both  bitter  and  sweet, 
Both  happy  un<l  sail. 

Wo  referring  again 

To  iimnmia'.s  knowing  uf  the  relation  which  then 
Exi.-  ---a ill  that  he  felt 

Mm-!.  i-t  of  my  letter,  as  well 

.MX/  glad  that  she  knew 
All  ;  i.d  tint   1M  told  ft! in  «;f  it,  ttx.. 

•,  pure,  and  true 
lied  him,  that  he 
.  ;•<!  been  with  mo, 
An. I  lie  said  all  his  friej  tiling  complained. 

..s  constraiui  il 
To  use  much  keep  them 

.' 
i-eat  many  tlii'  :'ht  not. 

llnw  .stilly,''  1  thought, 

;iie  on-  > 

• 

M  it  for  loug. 

•»  be,  to  tell  him 
ileared  t<>  Le  had  been 

uore  close  ;  how  much  more  I'd  esteemed 

ier  at  rest — 

man,  too, 

:  do  not  you  ?  ' 
. 
"  1  hojie  I  am,  dear  I  "     And  1  know  that,  instead 


STOLEN   WATERS.  29* 

Of  being  to  me  a  defilement,  this  sweet, 

Entire,  perfect  love,  lias  been  to  me  of  deep, 

Lasting  benefit,  and  a  strong  safeguard,  as  well. 

Loving  him,  I  from  others  attentions  repelled, 

Which,  received,  might  my  happiness  ruined  for  life. 

Who  knows  not  through  suffering  we're  purified  ? 

And  as  I've  suffered  deeply — how  deeply,  there's  One 

Alone  knows — so  I  trust  that  my  soul  has  become 

Purified  by  the  discipline  which  it  has  known. 

And,  to-day,  feel  that  not  in  religion  alone, 

But  in  character,  principles,  morals,  I  am 

Better  now  than  I  was  four  years  since.     No  one  can 

But  acknowledge  a  high,  pure,  and  perfect  love  hu.s 

A  refining  influence  upon  the  heart,  that 

Ready  the  discipline  of  disappointment  aright. 

I  believe  the  effect  upon  him  has  been  like. 

And  though  I  in  all  cases  the  tempter  have  been, 

Yet  I  feel  that  the  influence  I've  had  o'er  him, 

On  the  whole,  has  been  only  for  good.     And  I'm  glad  ! 

How  rejoiced,  too,  I  am  that  I  now  can  look  back 

And  say  he's  never  offered  to  ^me  one  temptation ; 

But  has,  in  all  things,  been  the  impersonation 

Of  truly  magnanimous  honor.     My_own 

Peerless  love !     I  am  glad,  very  glad  to  have  known 

Him,  although  it  has  brought  me  such  pain  as  to-night 

I've  been  forced  to  endure. 

When  I  asked  him  uot  qaiU 
To  forget  me,  he  said,  no  ;  it  was  not  with  ease 
We  old,  sweet  recollections  ignore,  and  that  ho 
Should  think  very  often  of  me  ;  he  supposed 
lie  should  not  ever  see  me  again  !      Very  close 
Was  the  clasp  which  he  held  me  witliin,  as  we  fell 


STOLEN  WATKM 

All  die  force  of  those  words.     We  could  not  mist  mraelrei 

eak  much  <  f  that  time,  and  each  moment  it  seemed 
More  and  niorv  that  1  never  could  give  up  the  dreuin 

had  been,  oh,  so  sweet  !  or  the  farewell  words  say 
That  should  part  us  forever.     Oh  !  how  my  heart  ached, 
ifi  approached  when  I  knew  he  mu&t  go  — 
Go  to  come  nevermore.     Oh,  why  must  it  be  so? 

.'•lp  mo  to  bear  this  uuutt'rable  woe! 
We  sat  for  a  long  time  in  silence  complete, 

._'  me  tii:ht,  his  face  pressed  to  my  cheek, 

with  anguish  so  vast, 

With  full   I  Q  that  this  was  the  last. 

Oh,  how  1  .1  •  ere  as  they  passed  ! 

t  >  each  oi  her  with  pain  at  the  dread 
,  which  we  both  hail  to 

Wh.  a  oui    !  i  t  we  must  look  in  each  other's  dear  eyes, 
•  despair  could  but  enter  as  hope  slowly  died, 

ispcd  for  tin-  last  time  on  larih 
And  our  „'  lips  speak  the  lust  farewell  woi 


I  bo<jyp-d  him  to  t.-ll  me  omv  •  re  we  should  part, 

.lit  only  more  close  to  his  heart 
ml  niurin  'h,  ihnit  iusk  me, 

not!  M   B  soft  and  i  l»-«i 

llnled  h   :  i^O. 

_;er  —  was  answered  —  'twas  plain 
vd  me;    I  iir.cl,.,!  •  to  aiwure 

Me  of  what  I  were  foolish  to  doubt.      And  though  pm« 

would  have  been  from  his  lipn 
The  »w«-.  IlCe  to  hear,  I  did  not,  1  admit, 

I-o»e  him  lea*  that  those  words  were  wit)  held.     Very  fc* 


STOLEN  WATERS.  297 

Would  temptation  so  strong  have  resisted,  I  knew. 
And  I  felt  very  thankful  my  l:>ve  was  so  true. 

It  was  time  he  should  go !     He  arose,  crossed  the  room, 
Returned,  and  beside  me  his  seat  he  resumed ; 
With  his  arm  around  me,  his  cheek  on  my  bowed  head, 
He  so  earnestly,  sweetly,  caressingly  said : 
"  I  will  tell  you,  dear,  how  it  shall  be  !     We'll  forget 
Everything  that  is  bad,  all  the  good  recollect. 
The  remembrance  of  all  that  is  sweet,  that  reflects 
Any  pleasure  to  us  when  the  past  we  recall, 
We  will  cherish  forever ;  and  we  will  let  all 
That's  bitter  or  painful  from  memory  fade, 
And  never  again  in  our  thoughts  have  a  place. 
Say  !  shall  it  be  thus  ?  "     And  I,  too  much  moved 
To  reply,  by  my  silence  alone  could  approve. 
For  a  moment  he  strained  me  again  very  close 
To  his  warm,  throbbing  heart,  where  he  held  me,  as  though 
He  could  not  let  me  go ;  then  he  once  more  arose, 
But  paused  'neuth  the  chandelier,  taking  a  book 
From  the  table,  at  which  he'indeed  scarcely  looked  ; 
Then,  laying  it  down,  toward  me  turned  again ; 
I  had  also  arisen,  stood  leaning  against 
The  table  behind  him — eyes  drooping,  downcast, 
And  a  sad,  bleeding  heart ;  both  my  hands  ho  then  clasped, 
Leaned  his  brow  against  mino  and  looked  into  my  eyes ; 
They  were  brimful  of  tears,  and  as  he  turned  to  hide 
His  emotion,  I  said  to  him,  "  This  is  the  lost, 
A  nd  you  do  not  care  !  "     What  reproach  and  pain  past* J 
luto  both  eye  and  tone,  as  he  said  in  reply 
Merely,  "  Do  not  talk  so  !  " 

But  time  fleetly  flew  by, 
18* 


298  STOLEN    V,'. \TERS. 

And  we  know  he  must  go  ;  that  (lie  moment  had  corns 
When  my  darling  ir.u  t  leave  mo  to  never  return. 
What  a  lifetime  of  anguish  was  crowded  in  those 
>  of  parti  in  clasping  close 

The  hands  ho  still  held,  stooped  ;md — for  the  first  time 

vening— with  warmtli  juv-  ,.•,!  hi-  .1,  nr  lips  to  mir.e, 
In  ii  passionate,  lingering  ki^s  of  farewell. 
What  love  and  despair  :  "d,  \\h<>  ran  toll  ? 

he  l.-ft  me,  despondent,  oast  down, 
in  my  h'-art,  and  with  eyes  on  the.  groxui<l, 
'Till  li  with  his  hand  on  the  door  ;  then  1  i 

or  face, 

With  ^  love  for  me  which  would  not  l>e  denied, 

In  a  moment  like  this,  nil  expression  !      Sliall  I 

ison  and  life 

M  You  'A/  love  me,  th(n,r 
I  Rprang  toward  him  and  was  ful> 
Withi.  so  impassioni  d  and   strong, 

As  ii.  IP      and   how  long 

:  cam  tell.  Murmured  at  ' 

ic,  and  passed 

:  :  'nit  out  all  the  light. 

•    i-lh  a  1)1: 

.iiul  weal '  !;.      ( >li,  my  < 

| 

i  is  more  than  I  ever  can  bear  J 

<  >f  the  timf 

mind 

1    I  found 
g  face  down, 

>  sob,  and  no  t  e*r, 
art  almost  breaking  with  bitter  and  drear 


STOLEN  WATERS.  299 

Hopeless  agonj ,  such  as  I  pray  I  may  n«  'er 
Experience  more.     While  it  cried  in  its  pain, 
<J  Oh  my  darling,  my  love,  come  back  to  me  again ! 
Come  back,  oh,  come  back,  I  can  not  let  you  go  I  n 
But  the  echoes  with  mocking  despair  answered, "  No, 
Nevermore,  nevermore !  " 

It  is  midnight !  and  sleep 
Refusing  her  watch  by  my  pillow  to  keep, 
Though  my  temples  are  throbbing  with  pain,  and  my  hand 
With  exhaustion  is  trembling,  and  with  no  command 
Of  my  fluttering  pulses,  I've  risen  to  write 
In  my  journal  these  filtering  lines,  and  unite 
With  my  last  sad  farewell  to  my  sorrowful  love, 
My  adieus  to  this  also ;  erecting  above 
This  grave  of  my  heart  the  one  blank,  brittle  stone 
Of  forgetfulness  ;  praying  for  what  one  alone 
Can  bestow,  peace  and  calm  to  the  storm  in  my  breast, 
A  rebuke  to  the  troubled  waves  never  at  rest. 

"  Stolen  waters  are  sweet !  "     But  the  most  abject  woe 
Lies  hidden  their  glittering  wavelets  below. 
No  more  shall  the  baneful  and  beautiful  draught 
Touch  the  lips,  which  before  have  so  eagerly  quaffed 
Of  the  bright,  sparkling  waters.     No  more  shall  I  k  L  ow 
The  bliss  or  the  pain  it  so  long  has  bestowed, 
Love's  goblet  is  shattered  !  the  contents,  I  found 
Both  bitter  and  sweet,  are  all  spilled  on  the  ground 
God  forgive  all  the  wrong  of  the  past,  and  again 
Unite  us,  where  all  are  eternally  friends. 


STOLEN    WATERS. 


PART    THIRD. 


•What  matteri  a  little  sorrow  if  the  end  if  bUMf" 

MM.  GUY. 

*3h«  bitter  put,  more  welcome  U  the  wmei ,  '• 


STOLEN  WATERS, 


BROOKLYN. 


August  13th,  1867. 

TUESDAY. 

ONCE  more  I  commence  a  new  journal !  and  clow 
Mie  lost,  leaving  it,  with  its  story  of  most 
Intense  pain,  pleasure,  passion,  and  letting  the  dear 
[nspirer  of  all  drop  from  out  my  life  here, 
A.S  one  that  has  never  existed.     Shall  it 
Be  thus  ?     Shall  I  not  any  mention  permit 
[n  these  leaves  of  my  heart,  of  the  one  whose  dear  nam*. 
Qas  filled  the  last  volumes  with  beauty  and  pain, 
As  it  has  for  so  long  filled  my  heart  with  its  deep 
Thrilling  music,  so  passionate,  soft,  low,  and  sweet  ? 
1  carCt  cease  to  think  of  him  often,  and  much  1 
J  know  not  that  I  wish  to  forget,  or  to  thrust 


304  STOLE*    U'.lTKttS. 

The  record  aside  of  what  has  to  mo  been 

80  delightful  in  anticipation,  aii<l  in 

The  j  mspect. 

For  us /*«  asked  that  I  would  alone  recollect 

All  the  good  in  tin-  pa-t,  how  can  I  a  lequest 

So  exquisitely  tend- Trd  •  No!    I'll  cease 

.ink  of  th."  Minn\\ ,  ,  g'-'i'-'f>  that  he'» 

Oft  11  nember  alone 

The  supreme  happiness  and  delight  1  have  known 
]n  his  pi  .      >o, 

And  ilertion.  indci-d  true, 

ipation  l\e  given  full  rein 

•  •  him,  my  h"  were  vain. 

But  t!  •  ir  in  ad\ 

Of  ull  I  had  f.inci.-d.     Though  followed  l>y  blank 

'•  r  have  1 
i  othi-i-  in  •  r  with  him. 

\  in  f;u-t, 

i  '-grct,  e'en,  I  now  can  look  I 
All  i  ,  .        .  i.-rnesa, 

ii\<-d,  I  r.ci  i.i-viT  cxjireaa, 
In  t':  hour.;  w<  ii.ive  pamed. 

^Vill  . .  .d  1)1.  ss  n.  4  months  and  yean, 

Ala'    g  'i  mii.-h  brightness  and 

h  pi.-.i-'ii.-  the  darkness  anil  gloom. 

So  ti.  ^  tl,0  room 

^ed;  •!!.»  my  love 

ilx>ve 

AJ1  the  otljers,  tin*  most  sacred  eh.iml.-r,  indeed, 
y  heart,  ahull  ull  brightness  and  loveliness  be  j 


STOLEN   WATERS.  301 

the  richest  and  softest  hues  all  shall  be  tinged. 
With  lustre  most  sweet  and  pure  all  glittering, 
With  the  cord  of  eternal  remembrance  all  hung, 
By  tho  hand  of  undying  love,  fond  affection. 
They  shall  be  scenes  of  hope  all  fulfilled,  friendship  tn.ej 
Of  scrupulous  honor,  sincerity  too, 
Temptations  resisted,  and  faith  tried  and  proved, 
Confidence  ne'er  betrayed,  and  love,  constant  and  quit* 
Involuntary  and  enduring.     The  light 
Shed  by  stars  of  esteem,  true  respect,  and  regard 
Shining  over  the  whole,  added  charm  to  impart 
To  the  pictures  so  fascinating  in  themselves, 
Which  must  ever  be  dearer  to  me  than  aught  else. 
"  '  Tis  sweet  to  remember !  I  would  not  forego 
The  charm  which  the  past  o'er  the  present  can  throw.*' 
And  so  I  will  not  put  liini  out  of  my  heart, 
And  my  heart  and  life's  journal.     I'll  try — although  hard 
Is  the  lesson  to  learn — him  to  never  regret ; 
But  my  life's  sweetest  dream  I  must  fail  to  forget 
Long  us  being  endures — the  bright  dream,  that  to  one 
Of  my  temperament  only  once  ever  comes, 
"  Tho  sole  love  that  life  gave  to  me."     It  is  true 
"  There  are  loves  in  some  lives  for  which  time  can  renew 
All  that  time  may  destroy.     Lives  there  are  in  love,  too, 
Which  cling  to  one  faith,  and  die  with  it,  nor  move 
Though  earthquakes  may  shatter  the  shrine ! "   aj  »1    sv  ri 

love 

I  have  given  to  him!  If  i  would,  I  cannot 
Forget  him.     My  journal  would  be,  too,  without 
Interest  to  me,  should  his  dear  name  cease  to  fir  d 
A  place  in  its  pages.     If  I  through  all  time 


SlOf./l.Y   WATERS. 

him  out  of  my  lift-,  shall  I  also  deny 
Him  :i  p!  IO8  in  my  heart,  and  heurt-iveord  ?      Shall   I, 
When  he  .-aid  lie  would  never  forget  me*  do  less 
Thau  rcDicmber  him,  too? 

Much  surprised,  I  confess 

(  was,  some  dn  .'.hen  in  town  on  Broad 

•>et  Mrs.  --  ,  his  \vit'.-.      I  had  not,  till  tlmt 

:  her  ;  and  tin  n  I  should  not,  I  dan-  say, 
b<  r,  Lad  she  not  given  a  glance 
.  unmistakable-,  us 

We  passed.     Sin-  \\as  looking  indocd  very  nice! 
T.SI-  that  littl.-  incident  did  not  suHici' 

if.  any  happier.      Only  lirought  biick 
Old  iim«'.s  with  mo:  ml  ma«le  mo  very  sad. 


l>;i.st  S.iliKath,  in  rhmvh,  wh-'ii  1  f.nind  the  tirst  hymu 
was  traced  on  the  margin. 
!  so  the  past  (lid  n-call  ! 

written,  m»re  plainly  than  all: 
in  that  beautiful  church,  on  that  bright 

i  r.  S.  in  hi  ;  quiet 

Deep  voice  the  words  reading  —  above  me  the  fuco 
.  lo\eil  ,  place 

the  low 
:   !y  and  slow 
i    ,  and  ma<le  (hem 

I  •    .  '  .  .inie  back  again, 
Aa  t!  r  IIMW  fell  011  my  ear, 

!e.l  uith  Hiich  Biid,  bittor  tear*. 

u  that  time 
And   now,  wh^u    I    i 


STOLEN  WATERS.  307 

To  forget,  in  a  measure,  all  this,  comes  to  taunt  me 

With  "  bliss  that's  remembered."     How  he  and  his  haual 

me  ! 

Fate  seems  to  forbid  my  forgetting.     Far  more 
Do  I  love  him  than  ever  I  have  done  before, 
Now  I  know  that  to  me  he  forever  is  lost. 
The  preacher  that  day  said,  when  any  one  was 
Peculiarly  tried,  or  had  any  great  grief, 
They  might  be  assured  there  was  some  glad  relief, 
Some  great  blessing  in  store  for  them ;  as  tried  and  prc  ved 
Was  an  article  ere  it  was  ready  for  use. 
It  comforted  me  very  much.     And  as  I 
Have,  God  knows  1  been  of  late  indeed  fearfully  tried, 
It  may  be  that  something's  still  waiting  for  me, 
To  make  up  for  the  pain  I've  endured  recently. 
1  hope  so,  and  that  it  may  come  speedily. 

To-night,  at  the  time  he  came  one  week  ago, 
I  of  course  thought  of  him,  as  I  have  done  also 
Through  to-day,  and  in  fact  every  day ;  but  this  eve 
My  dear  Nettie  was  in,  and  it  passed,  I  believe, 
For  a  very  few  moments,  quite  out  of  my  mind, 
'Till  I  looked  at  my  watch,  found  'twas  just  half-past 
The  hour  of  our  parting !     At  that  very  time, 
Only  one  week  ago,  on  my  lips  he'd  just  pressed 
His  kiss  of  farewell — his  last  lingering  caress, 
The  sweetest  that  man  to  a  woman  e'er  gave ! 
And  my  heart  and  my  pulses  stopped  beating,  as  wave 
After  wave  of  remembrance  rolled  over  my  soul, 
Ileoalling  of  that  bitter  evening,  the  whole. 
Stood  still  with  grief,  pain,  and  unboundec  regret. 
"  *  Tioas  sad  that  our  part. ing  should  be  !  "  gfcd  but  ret 


305  STOLEN   WATERS. 

.ililp.     An<l  perhaps  better  then 

riian  later.     It  must  have  como  some  time,  and  wheu 
Loss  than  now  should  1  lo\v  him?  for  each  added  year. 
Could  but  have  made  him  to  my  heart  still  more  dear, 
kl-d  i  harder  to  bear.      The  1 

Has,  God  knows,  bren  to  me  a  most  sad  one,  indeed  ! 
1 1 rough  it,  though,  as  1  must  do  all  those 
Yet  to  come.     ( >h,  how  muni/  before  life  shall  close  ! 
I  am  yet,  oh,  so  young  !     Life  to  me  looks  so  long  ! 
Twenty-two,  and  its  brightness  and  beauty  all  gone! 


August  Id,  1868. 

Almost  a  year,  binoe  I  have  opened  this  book  I 
And  how  i  ^ed?     One  would  think  but  to  look 

.  external  life,  that  *i  was  calm  and  sei 

mourning  a  In  ight,  broken  dream. 

•  ward  lift-  seriat'd, 
i*  to  my  I  iiut  hiddi-n  uitliin 

.ut,  that'  ';--d  l>een, 

:.tiha|i|iy.      I >ays  when 
i-t  and  lh'  -  •    uli 

uppreM 
The  sad,  intens'  •   <lrar  caress 

'•>  well  ;  for  lii.s  presence,  a  sight 

Of  the  one  dear,  dear  face,  which  would  bi  int,'  j«-y  ami 
To  my  |»oor,  aching  ln-;irt  ;    for  a  touch  of  Jiis  vanu, 

•in. 

••u  8OIUC  slight  trifling  thing  would  bring  all  back  again 
Witli  such  force  i»  .  1  seeui  to  me  then 


STOLEN  WATERS.  309 

That  I  never  could  bear  it.     And  yet,  I  believe 

That  the  days  which  are  saddest  are  those  that  exieceed 

To  a  night  when  my  dreams  have  all  been  of  him.     Night  a 

That  came  but  too  oft — dreams  which  but  tantalized. 

I  could  thoughts  of  him  in  some  measure  control ; 

But  over  my  dreams  I  had  none  ;  and  my  soul 

They  have  made  very  sad,  many  times.     Not  a  day 

En  this  long,  weary  year,  now,  thank  God  !  passeil  away, 

But  I've  thought  of  him  much.     Not  a  night,  but  my  last 

Thought  and  prayer  was  for  him.     How  has  lie  the  yeai 

passed  ? 

Oh,  would  that  I  knew  !     Yet  the  burden  I've  borne 
Philosophically  on  the  whole,  and  have  known 
Some  pleasant  if  no  happy  hours,  e'en  in  this 
Most  desolate  year,  dreary  as  my  life  is. 

To  the  "  old  church  "  last  Sabbath  a  visit  I  paid ; 
But  I  did  not  see  there  the  one  dear,  handsome  face 
Whose  eyes  used  to  meet  mine  so  kindly.     The  placo 
And  service,  without  him,  were  quite  incomplete  ; 
And  I'd  only  the  pleasure  of  retrospect  sweet, 
To  compensate  me  for  the  lost  charm. 

August  seems 

A  fatal  month  to  me  ;  and  what  will  this  bring  ? 
From  Colonel  Allair  I'm  expecting  this  week 
A  visit.     It  long  has  been  talked  of,  indeed, 
And  now  the  time  seems  to  have  come.     I  am  much 
Anticipating  from  his  stay,  and  I  trust 
We  may  with  each  other  some  pleasant  hours  spend. 
Oh,  would  'twas  my  darliny  instead  of  my  friend  1 
My  "  other  John  "  !     Were  that  the  case,  though,  J  fam 
I  should  not  so  tranquilly  write  of  it  here. 


STOLEN  WATERS. 

But  that  nevei ,  oh,  never  can  be  !     One  more  yeai 
Of  my  life  is  now  gone.     One  year  nearer  are  we 
To  the  meeting  eternal.     How  joyful  'twill  be! 
in  muling  a  book  about  heaven,  of  late, 
tutiful  thing,  too!     And  as  it  portrayed 

union  df  friends,  it  occurred  to  me  then, 
_'h  1  oft  think  of  meeting  my  love  there,  to  8penti 
A  hapjiy  eternity  with  him,  (lie  thought 
we  may  be  in  s. -pirate  places  has  not 

iy  soul.      And  \\hi-ii  that,  suggests  it, 
Does  my  mind  for  one  moment  a  place  there  permit 

in  V     No  ;  with  all  of  my  h 
I  l*'Iie\,-.  that  as  II.TC  we  are  kept  far  apart, 

we  shall  In-  united  in  all  the  sweet  bonds 
id  love     love  perfected  and  fend. 

who  died  fir  us  l>- 
mil   •    /I'm  all  to 
•  mly  tli'-  IIOWIT,  l>ut  w: 

'o  l>riiiLj  h:'d-  into  His 

.  through  Him,  that  if  nom 
f>f  m\  ,;is  shall  < 

I--  His  ear,  and  find  <»r.i  uce,  save  one, 

ii  a  full,  j..-i,i:.-nt, 
:;flit    inc- 

Aaoend  ••-.  •  n  unt-.  th--  l""t  of  tin-  Tin 

i  an  answer  in  lih-s-in^s  on  him  shower  ,|, 
•     |  •  i      !        .     '        \i,.l  l   In  i   ',   who  has  li.-rne 

vcak  humaii  i.  r  weakness  has  known  ; 

• 

<•  about. 
it  all  the  worh' 
•r,  at  least,  if  not  quite 


STOLEN   WATERS.  311 

A  crime,  may  the  means  be  of  bringing  to  Christ 
One  wandering  lamb  ?    Oh  !  how  happy  and  glad 
TwouM  make  me,  to  think  that  my  influence  hadj 
Under  God,  been  the  means  of  directing  the  feet 
Of  one  so  beloved  into  paths  that  shall  lead 
To  the  gates  of  the  city  eternal.     God  keep 
My  darling  through  all  of  life's  wild,  stormy  blasts 
And  bring  us  together  with  Him,  safe  at  last ! 


August  I6th,  1868. 

SUNDAY. 

Since  I  last  wrote  the  Colonel  has  been  here,  and 
And  I  on  my  lips  wear  his  troth-kiss,  and  on 
My  finger  his  ring !     Am  I  happy  in  this 
New  relation  ?     I  scarcely  can  tell,  I  confess ! 
I  like  him  very  much,  very  much  indeed  1     More, 
I  think,  than  I  have  any  one  heretofore, 
Excepting  my  love  of  the  sweet  olden  time ; 
And  I  do  not  know  as  that  passion  of  mine 
Interferes  in  the  least  with  the  strong,  warm  regard 
Which  I  now  have  for  John.     The  place  held  in  my 
By  my  old  love  's  peculiar  and  sacred  to  him  ; 
No  other  can  ever  approach  it.     Within 
That  chamber  no  footsteps  may  enter.     The  door 
Is  fast,  and  my  love  holds  the  key.     Nevermore 
(Shall  it  open,  'till  life's  joys  and  sorrows  are  o'er. 
,*  nd  yet,  my  attachment  to  John  is,  I  think, 
B.'rong  enough  to  make  me  unto  lain  everything 


312  STOLEN  WATERS. 

That  he  m;iy  desire  ;  and  //«  feels  it  is  BO. 

Our  y  conditional,  though, 

And  if  < -itlier  should  think,  in  (ho  future,  'twould  b« 

Best  i'  sh"uM  not  be  consximmated,  why  we 

Are  to  make  it  known  instantly. 

He  was  with  me 

Scarcely  more  than  a  week.     The  first  few  days  ]>aued  as 
Quite  ll« ctly  to  us,  in  reviewing  our  long 

•  iidence  so  pleasant.     But  one  day,  he'd  been 
In  t'twu  since  the  morning,  and,  waiting  for  him, 

at  twilight,  was  down  in  the  parlors,  and  leaning 
My  li<  ;id  <-n  the  mantel-piece,  stood  idly  dreaming 
Of  what      1  indeed  scarcely  know;  but  I  must 
In  in  D  :il)s..rl.«-d  very  much, 

,',  nor  his  step  in  the  hall, 
M-niugdoor — in  fa<'t,  was  not  at  all 
.  until  some  one's  anna 
•  1  me  with  passionate  pressure  and  warm, 

.ist  gently   was  drawn. 
y  indignant,  I  raised 
'••r  UK-  (I.  . ndinga  face, 

•  ii  can  (nice. 
v.  on!d  li;i\c  \vithdi.iwn  from  his  clasp, 

iiol.liing  fiust 

liich  W!us  reeling againti  it,  and  said, 
</«/</•  wi*ary  1> 

irenl  »n 

him  I  had  been  long; 
!if.-  !>«•  wirhoiit  UK-;  how  strong 
Hi*  desire  wu*  to  .  hi--M  mu  from  all  of  the  storm* 
Of  life,  which  had  hitherto  vLsited  mo 

i  roughness;  how  kind,  and  how  tendnr  he'd  be 


STOLEN   WATERS.  313 

And  looking  up  into  his  true,  honest  eyes, 

I  felt  that  in  his  hands  my  happiness  I 

Could  give,  and  the  trust  would  be  never  betrayed  ; 

And  the  answer  he  wished  for  I  readily  gave. 

fu  a  year  he  will  come  for  me,  if  before  then 

Neither  think  it  were  better  he  should  not.     And  when 

He  bade  me  farewell,  'twas  with  tears  of  regret 

A  nd  sorrow  I  saw  his  departure.     And  yet, 

[  thought  of  a  parting  but  one  year  ago, 

And  felt,  for  the  first  time,  it  could  not  be  so — 

The  conditional  promise  could  never  be  kept. 

But  that  feeling  soou  passed,  and  I'm  now  quite  content, 

And  think  that  my  life  with  him  will  be,  indeed, 

A  tranquil  and  happy  existence,  and  lead 

My  heart  into  safe,  pleasant  paths.     And  to-night, 

I  thank  God  for  His  goodness,  and  pray  that  aright 

I  may  use  my  strong  influence  over  the  man 

Whose  happiness  now  has  been  placed  in  my  hande 


October  Wth,  1868. 

SATURDAY. 

Scarcely  two  months  have  sped,  and  already  do  I 
Beneath  my  bonds  chafe.     My  heart  already  cries, 
That  it  never  can  be!  and  beside  me  there  lies 
A  letter,  signed,  sealed,  whose  contents  .shall  dissolve 
The  engagement  on  which  we  so  lately  resolved ; 
And  I  wonder,  now,  how  I  could  ever  have  felt 
1  hat  T  could  the  mairiage  vows  take  on  myself, 
14 


314  STOLEN  WATERS. 

promise  to  love  any  .other  but  him 
W!io  iiiu-.r  .  i  ill  be  my  dearest,  as  ever  he's  been. 
For  John  1  1  the  most  sincere  and  true 

nd  know  well  that  he  lores  me,  toa 

Ami  y--t,  my  li<;ut  shrinks  from  the  intimacy 

.fried  life,  e\en  with  him.     And  think  he 

Will  feel,  as  I  do,  'tis  but  justice  and  kindness, 

•  •arly  to  sever  the  ties  which  now  bind  us. 

I  suppose  my  decision  will  pv.;  him  much  pain, 

Aii-1  •>,  hoped,  in  v;dn, 

Icippy  future  to  spend. 

And  it  hints  me,  indeed,  toe.  f  to  my  frir-nd, 

ill  bo  as  notl  .  ivd 

. 

Of  within  his  am.  |  :i  cold,  1  :',- ; 

That  •  ;dd  but  make  us  for  life 

ist 

ini;  for  us 
All  1  ;ht 

!  ,  I .  ught 

•  tit  further  deUy ; 
And  t  I  wrote  h 

y  largo  is  my  heart 

:'ir  sweeter  to  lo\c /,;,/,  my  n 
'  hopo  of  again  seeing  him 

thought  of  tlu-ruover  beiof 
ecu  us  ono  gv.  •,  than  to  be 

iinv  other.     The  menfry  to  me, 


STOLEN  WATERS.  815 

Of  his  love,  is  far  more  than  the  most  warm,  k  eartfelt, 

Passionate  adoration  of  any  one  else. 

With  such  feelings,  I  can't  wrong  a  friend  that's  so  dear, 

By  a  ruined  heart  giving  to  him,  or  a  mere 

Pretence  of  affection.     So  sorry  am  I, 

So  sorry,  that  he  should  have  ever  a  tie 

Between  \is  more  close  than  warm  friendship  besought 

Or  desired ;  and  so  sorry,  too,  that  I  should  not 

Seen  at  first  that  his  hopes  could  be  ne'er  realized. 

Still,  I  trust  that  his  love  not  so  deeply  does  lie, 

That  it  is  not  so  lasting  and  strong  as  he  thinks  ; 

That,  before  many  years  their  swift  flight  shall  have  winged 

He  will  find  one  more  worthy  of  such  a  dear,  kind 

Companion  as  he  would  be  ;  who,  through  all  time, 

Every  craving  shall  satisfy  of  his  true,  warm, 

Loving  heart.     And  who  shall  not  alone  fill  his  arms, 

But  his  mind  and  his  soul. 

Thus  once  more  I  become 
All  my  love's,  with  no  thought  but  for  him — my  dear  one  I 


December  I8th,  1868. 

FRIDAY. 

'Tis  with  saddest  of  sad  hearts  I  sit  down  to  write 
A  few  words  in  my  journal's  still  pages  to-night. 
Such  sorrowful  news  as  to-day  I've  received  ! 
This  morning  a  paper  was  handed  to  me, 
Addressed  in  my  love's  well-known  hand.     Oh,  hc~w  long 
It  had  been  since  I'd  seen  it  before !     What  a  strong 


316  STOLEN  WATERS. 

Thrill  fluttered  my  pulse  as  I  recognized  it! 

\Vii8  RO  happy  and  glad  about  it,  I  admit 

That  I  never  once  tin  night  it  was  strange  he  aLoulii 

In  that  uuumcr  our  hn'.ir,  cruel  silence.     With  hiiste 

I  tore  off  the  wrapper,  and  looked,  but  in  vain, 

For  a  wrii  ten  word  which  should  the  sending  explain. 

when  carelessly  glancing  its  columns  adown, 
i  !'h,  which  I  soon  found 

A  notice  to  be  of  tin-  <i"ath  of  his  wife. 

.••eked  liavt-  been,  in  my  whole  life: 

him!      Mtiw  it  Juts  ached  all  day 
'  stricken  h'-  mmt  IK-!      Oh,  would  in  son, 

him  f.inift)rt.     His  dear  children,  too  — 

•:.••'.    Bertiel     oh,  what  will  he  do 

NVithout  his  own  Ic.xin-  mamma.      Tis,  indeed, 
Very  hard  for  tliom  all.     Ami  it  makes  my  heart  blood, 
NVht-n  I  think  of  Imw  Imicly  tln-v  must  be  to-night. 
tin  -ir  aad  hearts  ! 

(  )f  f.-vcr  Bhr  died, 
I  can't  n-ali/.o 

uhl  lit>  now, 

White  and  rtill,  'neath  <  ;  i        :..UT.     oh,  how 

:ny  darling!     'Tis  sad,  oh,  BO  sad  — 

•   trial  hi-  cvt-r  has  had. 


M-ning  a  ffw  lines  «»f  doep, 

ing  I   ni'\rr  couhl 
•  1  him  ho\v  tr\ily  I  grieved 

At  his  Borrow.     And  wn.tf,  with  tin;  earnest  belief 
I'  wxs  ri^'ht  that   I  .--h.-uld.     JfsiiK  pity  and  bless, 
And  to  hi.s  trt.ubled  spirit  send  cheor  and  swtvt  rrwtj 


RTOLdN  WATEliS.  317 

December  31s<,  1868. 

THURSDAY. 

The  last  da/  of  the  year!  I  have  beec  looking  o'ei 
The  journal  I've  kept  for  six  long  years,  or  more ; 
And  T  could  not  help  thinking  that,  were  I  to  read 
The  same  in  a  book,  I  should  think  it,  indeed, 
Over-drawn,  and  extravagant,  too.     Yet,  God  knows 
That  I  felt  every  word  from  beginning  to  close. 
Felt  bitterly,  sweetly,  the  fullest  extent 
Of  what  was  expressed.     And  a  nature  intense 
As  mine  is,  could  scarcely  feel  less,  influenced 
By  the  same  circumstances,  I'm  sure!     As  I  knew 
'Twould  be  no  criticism  subjected  unto 
More  severe  than  my  own,  I  have  freely  expressed 
All  my  heart's  bliss  and  pain,  happiness  and  unrest. 

The  old  year  is  dying  .     The  moments  speed  fast ! 
As  they  vanish  away  among  things  of  the  past, 
My  thoughts  backward  roll  to  one  bright  afternoon. 
Just  five  years  ago  — five  long  years !  yet  Low  soon 
Have  they  slipped  from  beneath  our  oft-faltering  feet — 
When  my  heart  the  first  time  wildly  throbbed  'reath  *L« 

cheek 

Of  one  who's  become  since  so  dear ;  when  my  lips 
Felt  the  pressure  of  his  in  his  first  tender  kiss, 
And  I  eagerly  tasted  the  first  drops  of  bliss, 
In  the  goblet  of  love  wliich  his  ready  hand  raised 
To  my  parched,  thirsty  lips.     Oh,  how  sweet  was  the  Untai 


BIS  OLEN  WATERS. 

Happy  thru  in  :it,  so  happy  to  see 

That   I  lilK-il  all  bis  thoughts  for  the  moment,  that  he 

ill  I  had  deemed  him — a  gentleman  true. 
Not  thinking,  or  <-<t~  d,  then,  this  new, 

lug  to  analy/.'  .  of  what 

The  future  might  bring  forth-    in  fact,  with  no  thought 
That  moment  beyond,  and  delirious,  too, 
With  the  joy  of  bis  glad  moments  flew 

But  too  swiftly,  and  brought  our  first  parting.     And  thei 

•spect,  when 

I  sat  with  my  band  ightly  pn 

d  caress, 
•uroiis  tin  ill  rvrry  word  of  tho  man 

a  then,  b'-ld  my  heart  in  hi-  iiaud. 
:  nobly  h;is  /<•:  u---d  tlie.  power  j.o-ses^f d. 

iio  been  to  his  tiu.st.     Kinde.  t,  lwnt, 
bove 

.  admire  him,  and  love ! 

,  d  make 
-ary  days, 

.  t!i"in  a! 
I    rce-dleetioii,  will, 

•,d  thf-m,  8Mb  \e*r 
indredall  the  more  dear  ? 
'  MI,  blessed  b<  .me 

>-."      I  tind, 

In  t'n"  wliole  -id,  not  a  man  who  in  like 

Unto  my  h»v.  i.lpss  and  preserve  him  to  niajht' 


STOLEN   WATK&8.  319 

December  3lst}  1869. 

FRIDAY. 

M  The  day  of  all  days"  to  me,  my  wedding  day  I 
It  is  now  six  P.M.  ;  in  two  hours  I  shall  say, 
God  willing,  the  words  that  forever  will  bind 
Me  to  him,  my  heart's  idol,  for  such  a  long  time, 
My  own  love  and  darling !     And  sitting  here,  clad 
iu  my  pure  bridal  robes,  I  am  making  the  glad, 
Last  record  in  my  little  journal,  which  has 
Been  a  brief  one,  indeed  ;  for  since  it  was  commenced 
I've  no  heart  had  for  writing.     But  this  blissful  end 
Compensates  for  all  of  the  pain  gone  before. 

'Tis  a  night  of  deep  beauty  !     I  look  WITHOUT,  o'er 
My  shoulder,  and  see  the  full  moon,  large  and  bright, 
Shining  calm  and  serene  from  the  far  East ;  while  light, 
Fleecy  clouds  hover  near  it  and  o'er  it ;  but  do 
Not  its  brilliance  obscure.     But  a  dark  one's  there,  too ; 
oailing  near,  and  yet  nearer;  and  if  that  should  flit 
Dver,  will  it  not  hide  with  completeness  all  its 
Matchless  beauty  and  brilliance  ?     With  interest  deep 
[  watch  it  move  slowly  along ;  now  it  sweeps 
Over  every  part;  but  the  radiance  still 
Escapes,  and  the  ether  surrounding  it  gilds. 
iu  the  cloud  there  are  rifts,  too,  through  wiiich  I  its  taka, 
Silvery  beauty  still  see.     Now  it  rises,  with  gran. I, 
Imperial  triumph,  above  the  dark  and 
Most  envious  clouds  shining  forth  once  again, 
With  its  lustre  midi  mined,  and  its  beautv  unchanged. 


320  STOLEN  WATERS. 

i  turn  from  that  picture,  and  look  WITHIN  !     There 
1  find  perfect  happiness  !     And,  though  aware 
That  it  l»y  | -:issing  clouds  may,  and  mu-st  be,  ind 
Temporarily  dJ  there  may  be 

which  I  may  ttill  its  bright  radiance 
That  tin- 1/  will  soon  pass,  and  its  brilliancy  le;. 
Untarnished,  xim-hangcd  ! 

This  is  my  "  PROIA>UIK  " 
To  what   I\e  to  write. 

Just  one  week  since,  to  night, 
In  lit.-  parlor  I  Bat  in  tin;  gathering  twilight, 

Idly  rodcing and  dreaming,  with  eheek  in  my  hand. 

< 'f  j»n-.->i-ir  .  win-it  tin;  brll  loudly 

Aly   {•  .till  did  not  «-h:ing«\  till  the  door 

rhriAvn  •>  :  .i  grntlciu      .  the  floor, 

i  by  inc.       I  looked  up,  and  with  raptu  ovi 
gl:mco  my  own  !-••, 

:   once  >•<••  n. 
Oil,  ho\v  glad  WJLS  my  hr:nt  !       11  .uid  supn-ni 

!th  which  on.  !   It,  his  dear  arm 

ind  me,  hi,  ki.~s  <>n  m\  and  warm  ! 

And  v  was  A«  to  again  hold  me  i 

<  )h,   '  i  US 

•  iff 

.  iCMl 

•lien  he  i:  nli  him  to  u  • 

,  ho  to  mo 

•"  dly — 
'i,  di-ar,  and  1  mor 

:  more  im. 

i-  wpantUi  ua.  longer  can  I 

I  apart  fi  .  want  you  in  utj 


STOLEN  WATERS.  321 

Now  desoluto  home,  every  hour  in  my  heart. 
Y  ou  are  all  mine  !  my  darling,  my  wife,  are  you  not  ?  * 
I  against  the  dear  hand  which  I  held  laid  my  cheek, 
A.DJ  looked  up  the  dear  eyes  true  and  loving  to  meet, 
And  the  a  uswer  he  wished  in  my  face  let  him  read. 
No  words  were  required ;  for  too  long  had  he  known 
That  my  heart's  every  fibre  for  him  throbbed  alone. 
And  as  his  lips  met  mine  in  the  lingering  kiss 
Of  betrothal,  I  thought  that  no  other  caress 
Was  ever  so  sweet. 

Then  he  went  on  to  tell, 

As  the  darkening  shades  swiftly  gathered  and  fell, 
All  that  I'd  for  so  long  from  his  lips  wished  to  hear. 
How  much  and  how  dearly  he'd  loved  me  for  years ; 
How  it  had  sometimes  almost  overcome  him ; 
How  hard  to  repress  words  of  love  it  had  been, 
When  they  trembled  on  his  very  lips  ;  how  with  pain 
He'd  allowed  many  letters  of  mine  to  remain 
Unanswered,  from  feeling  he  never  could  trust 
Himself  to  reply ;  and  how  bowed  to  the  dust 
He  was  at  our  last  bitter  parting. 

How  great, 

And  exceeding  the  joy  which  all  this  to  me  gave! 
And  to  Him  who  bestows  upon  us  all  good  gifts, 
How  thankful  I  felt  that  such  full,  perfect  bliss, 
Was  at  length  me  accorded — my  most  ardent  wish 
For  long  years,  and  the  very  desire  of  my  heart. 
And  not  what  I  wished  for  alone,  He  imparts — 
The  boon  of  his  love — but  He  grants  me,  beside, 
What  T  never  il;irod  think  of,  the  privilege,  right. 
The  remainder  of  life  with  my  dear  one  to  spend, 
14* 


322  *T(H.r.\    \VATER8. 


Th.tt  was  DUO  week  a.-  "iiincf  since  thea 

He's  been  wiih  me  ;  and  we're  to  be  married  to-night  I 
He  thought  we  had  be.-n  kept  apart  too  long,  quite, 
To  delay  any  more,  ami  would  give  me  but  one 
More  brief  week  of  freedom.     Nor  did  I,  I  own, 
re  it.      These,  chains  are  of  silk,  do  not  fret, 
And  bondage  to  him  is,  I  think, 
Than  the  most  entire  lib 

What  a  soft  light 
Filled  h  U   the  eve!     And  my  thoughts  then  tool 

fligit 

To  t;  -iful  Sabbaths  six  \e:irs  ago,  when 

ill  sat   in  elmrch,  and  he  d"\vn  to  me  sent 

anees  —  like,  but  n»t   the  same. 
And  /  '       My  In-art  the  swt-«-t  im. 

;  doth  n-j>eat.      I  am  his,  he  is  mine. 

inly  beats  fur  me,  mine  through  all  ti 
Throbs  f'.r  him  truly,  tend«-ily.  we  are, 

..ill  IM-  in  i  \  ing  (ar 

1'hi"  •  ttity,       I  1      '•'•  :!1  BOOB  <-omi- 

•  been   in   i  ..       Tliut  VOIC« 

So  exquis;  more  shall  h'-ai   ;    nn-i-t   theeyes 

„'  and  ti,  16  warir»f 

Thrilling  ci;i.,|>  .ii-m, 

>  caressing  of  /  !  .heels, 

ure  of  h  '  '     \    m«ct 

•  wn  in  the  Bwcwt^-st  of  kis-ses.      Ami  • 
Is  >n>(  "  ttolen  waters,"  l.u-  n  bliss! 

And  how  run  nny  \ 
Of  lo\  ••  lues  i  i.-ir  lip* 


STOLEN  WATERS.  823 

To  passion's  profane  touch,  formality's  cold, 

Or  friendship's  indifferent  pressure.     I  own 

/  cannot.     And  from  nny  one's  kisses  I  shrink 

When  he's  left  a  caress  on  my  lips.     For  I  think 

A.  kiss  sacred  and  very  expressive,  and  it 

Should  be  neither  profaned  nor  abused.     I  admit 

I  Wee  kisses,  but  not  a  profusion,  or  those 

That  are  cold  and  indifferent.     Though  I  suppose 

My  ideas  are  somewhat  peculiar — in  fact, 

Have  been  told  so — I'd  not  have  them  changed.     And  an 

glad 

He  the  luxury  uses  so  rarely,  indeed, 
That  'tis  not  rendered  common.     Am  glad,  too,  that  he 
Is  reserved ;  that  he's  not  prodigal  in  professing 
Attachment  to  me ;  is  not  free  in  expressing 
His  strong,  full  affection. 

I  love  him,  he  me  ! 

[  with  my  whole  heart,  my  might,  mind,  strength ;  and  be 
As  I  wish  to  be  loved.     And  how  thankful  I  am, 
Every  day,  every  hour  of  my  life,  that  the  man 
On  whom  I  have  lavished  the  first,  only  love 
Of  which  I  am  capable,  who  has  above 
All  others  for  long  been  enshrined  in  my  heart's 
Sweet  "  holy  of  holies,"  who,  "  be  the  days  dark 
Or  bright,"  must  abide  there  forever,  is  one 
That  is  worthy  of  all ;  a  rare  man,  who's  become 
More  honored  and  trusted  each  time  we  have  met. 
With  whom  a  familiar  acquaintance,  instead 
Of  breaking  the  charm,  or  of  weakening  the  depth 
Of  my  passion  's  enhanced  it  a  thousand  fold, 
A  aide  every  barrier,  rendered  it  yet 


324  STOLEN    WATERS. 

More  strong,  deep,  enduring,  and  shown  him  tc  tn« 
The  one  love  of  my  life — a  man,  manly — to  be 
My  own,  here  and  hereafter. 

The  name  that  I  chone, 

When  I  sent  my  first  note  to  him  so  long  ago, 
How  pertinent  'twas !     "  Hitter-sweet  /  "     Seems  alruo* 
Prophetic.     Impulsively  chosen,  no  thought 

[•t  f>r  the  present,  110  glance  into  what 
Wan  then  dim  futurity,  no  care,  indeed, 
For  what  fmit  might  grow  from  the  rashly  sown  seed, 
A  very  child  was  I,  dependent  on  each 
Passing  moment  for  happiness;  joyous  or  grieved, 
Glad  or  sorry,  as  by  influences  around 
I  was  swayed.     Not  reflecting  once,  as  to  the  wrong 
Or  right  of  the  step  I  was  taking,  and  not 
One  thought  of  with  %vhat  results  it   aii^ht  be  fraught 
Bv  th<«  «.\i.-«-t,  witehing  glances  of  his  soft,  dark  eye 
I,  l>e\vildeml  liy  the  sweet,  dreamy  smile, 
\Vhi.-h  rut  alone  wreathe. 1  his  lips,  dimpled  his  cheek, 
But  gave  udded  l>< -mt y  and  softness  to  each 

face  ;  and  to  him, 
<r  heinij  ; 
•  the  anisic  of  his 

y  voice,  he  a  spell  :  rong  to  resist, 

Too  gradual,  Kuhtle,  bewilderinglj  sweet, 
\Vovc  around  me,  whieh  de.-per  tjrew  e;ich  passing 
"1  ill,  reckless  of  consequences,  secure  in 
My  disguise,  longing  passionately  for  something 
Tungil  A  it h  him— a  line  traced 

By  hid  hand,  or  tie  <  n>  it  had  been  placed, 

Bomethiu.  /,  \\  hich  was  or  had  been  bin  01 

I  sent  my  first  letter,  and,  an  has  been  Hhown, 


STOLEN    WATERS.  323 

Prophetically  chose  as  my  disguise 

Ihe  name  "  Sitter- /Sweet."     Six  long  years  have  panned  bT| 

A.IH!  a  few  days  ago  I  another  one  sent, 

In  the  same  manner  signed.     But  I  wrote-  to  him  then 

As  unto  a  stranger,  unknown  to  him  quite, 

But  now,  as  my  darling,  my  love,  my  delight ! 

What  was  then  a  dream  only  has  long  since  become 

A  blessed  reality  ;  and,  more  than  once 

Pve  experienced  what  I  then  longed  for,  the  press 

Of  his  arm  around  me,  of  my  head  to  his  breast. 

Sitter-  Swset !  bitter  has  been  indeed  that  note's  fruit ; 
Sweet,  intensely  sweet,  also  !     The  plant's  language,  too, 
Which  I  carelessly  then  as  an  emblem  chose — truth — 
Has  run  through  the  whole  of  our  lives'  warp  and  woof,  * 
Since  we  ceased  to  be  strangers.     I  have  been,  I  feel, 
To  him  faithful,  and  he  is,  I  know,  true  a»  steel. 
The  sweet's  been  predominant ;  and,  though  'tis  plau 
The  bitter  has  also  been  present,  it  came 
At  the  first,  as  the  name  indicates  ;  and  the  sweet 
FolloAved  swiftly,  is  thorough,  and  lasting,  and  deep. 

Just  six  years  to-day,  since  we  met  the  first  time  ! 
And  to-night  God  will  make  ine  all  his,  him  all  mine. 
It  is  now  half-past  seven  !     A  few  moments  more, 
And  he  will  be  here.     And  though  I've  lingered  o'er 
This  hour's  pleasant  task,  I  must  leave  it  and  haste 
To  my  "  EPILOGUE." 

Love  is  the  "  Alpha  "  I  trace, 

Hie  "  Omega  "  is  joy.     I've  for  once  known  the  taste 
Of  the  rare,  ruby  wins  of  entire  happiness  1 
Something  seldom  attained,  scarcely  known  when  poasesnea 


bunli  n  is  lig!  -h  cloud  is 

banished,  all  gloom  is  expelled, 
By  the  bright  influence  of  the  rosy  contents 
Of  that  magk-  goblet.      "Whatever  is  n 
For  me  in  the  fuiure,  1  then  ran  K-ok  back 
T")  these  moments  BO  joyous  and  glad,  thinking  that 

••,   at  least,  have  my  heart-strings   b  t  bj    tb» 

hand 

Of  *rne  happiness  ;   and  strains  of  musi  :nuul 

And  sweet.  I..  ••  touch  followed.     Soft  strain* 

Which  \ibiaied  and  echoed,  until  they  became 
All  lost  in  my  joy's  deep  immensity. 

Then, 
"  What  matters  some  sorrow,  if  blissful  \s  the  end?  v 

of  my  love  !   und  1  think,  a.s  with  fleet, 

!  :  one  to  meet, 

ITiat  "  ihf  bittx-r  all  p;i.st,  f.ir  more  welcome '«  tLe  HWMV  .  *-' 


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